


Fury of the Wastes

by Kate_A_OConnell



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Acrophobia, Assassination Attempt(s), Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Corruption, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fate & Destiny, Gun Violence, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Procedures, Murder, Past Brainwashing, References to Addiction, References to Drugs, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27183976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate_A_OConnell/pseuds/Kate_A_OConnell
Summary: Charon had never really questioned his Fate - it literally wasn't in his genetic makeup let alone his training to do so.  Miserable as that Fate might be, he stayed true to his oaths, served his function without question.... ok...maybe a little twisting words here and there... but he was never so hubristic as to defy Fate itself.....And then he fell into the employ of ex-vaultie Erin "Ryn" Connolly, a gifted young medic and mechanic despite (literally) missing a few brain cells.  Having lost everything and everyone in an instant, she is fast becoming someone who seems to do nothing but fight Fate and question the status quo.As a team, they have the potential to change the world for the better... if the jaded old ghoul can keep the headstrong smoothskin alive long enough, anyway.*being reworked*
Relationships: Charon & Lone Wanderer, Charon (Fallout) & Female Lone Wanderer
Kudos: 8





	1. Gone in a Flash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The overgrown golem was proving to be more of a hassle than he was worth anyways... and there's a lot of fun to be had with that many caps...

I tensed slightly as the doors to my establishment tore open with a screech, and narrowed my eyes at their howl. I had _told_ Winthrop numerous times now to repair them. While I hated to cause more of a stir than necessary, perhaps it was getting time to send Charon to _remind_ him…

Turning to see my latest patron, though, I quickly shoved such dark thoughts aside. The smoothskin causing all the fuss here in town had finally seen fit to pay old Ahzrukhal a visit, and my word, did she look a treat. Oh, not that she was particularly attractive in a physical sense. Her capitalist ancestors would have marched her straight to the nearest cosmetic surgery clinic for that huge nose of her alone, then also ordered some work on her unremarkable figure, that angry looking scar on her forehead, and that clumsily shorn shock of black frizz she called hair. But to me, she was the ideal specimen. After all, to a ‘businessman’ like myself, nothing is more beautiful than a wide eyed little neophyte a long way from her comfy underground cocoon, especially if she has a few caps to spend.

It irked me, though, that her first stop was not my bar but, for some reason, my body guard. I scowled at this, trying to figure out what the little chit was up to. Her movements and posture expressed the nervousness I would expect to see when meeting my golem for the first time, but there also seemed to be an urgency about her as she tried to ask him something. This wasn’t good. I’d been having enough trouble with the brute as it was. The last thing I needed was some idiot smoothskin riling him up! For once, though, the dullard was actually doing as I had asked of him and refusing to answer in anything more than short, angry clips. 

Finally, the girl seemed to get the message. She took a step back and nodded at him slowly, before turning to face me. I grinned widely as she took an obvious deep breath, and wider still when she tried to perch a delicate smile on her own lips as she walked quickly towards me. “Mr. Ahzrukhal, I presume?” she said as she approached, her voice tense. But, despite her nerves, she held out her hand to me. He grasp was firm enough to have charmed a pre-war corporate fat cat, and with no sign of trepidation at the whorls and patches of my skin. Hers was a bit rougher than I had expected, with some fairly well developed callouses on what I assumed would be her trigger finger. Perhaps she had been out of her vault a bit longer than I had anticipated. Well, no matter.

"Why yes, yes I am,” I replied to her query, giving her hand a final squeeze before releasing it and gesturing to the bar. “Welcome to the 9th circle. I’ve been hearing quite a bit about you Miss…Eryn, isn’t it? Yes, yes, well, you’re quite the talk of the town. As you can imagine, we don’t get many visitors here, and even fewer smoothskins.” The girl nodded politely, but shifted in a way that indicated impatience, so I nodded at a worn scrap of wood that served as a bar stool. “Please, come take a seat, and tell old Uncle Ahzrukhal your troubles.”

She perched on a stool like a bird on a twig, folding her hands neatly on the counter but ready to spring up and run at the slightest provocation. “I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of time…” she started. “You see, there’s a woman down in Doctor Barrows’ clinic, name of Reilly…”

Well, I must say this turn of conversation was not one I would have anticipated, but color me intrigued all the same. “Yes, yes, of Reilly’s Rangers…I heard Quinn found her in the subway tunnels on one of his runs. Had to bring her up here on a board so they didn’t harm her further.” I clicked my tongue. “Such a shame what happened to her and her men…”

“They’re alive,” the girl interrupted sharply. “Her men, I mean. Well, except one… But I heard their radio broadcast. They’re alive, and they need help. However, Reilly herself is in no shape to mount a rescue mission, so…” The girl fidgeted with her hands nervously, her eyes dropping for a moment before returning to mine. “Well, she asked me to do it. Thing is, …well, I’m not a fighter, not really, and I just don’t think I can’t do this alone. Nurse Graves suggested I ask the gentleman in the corner, Charon, for assistance, but he said I would have to talk to you…”

I nearly laughed at her, calling the giant pillar of rotting flesh and impotent rage a ‘gentleman’, but managed to twist my mirth into an expression of concern instead. “Oh, I see, I see… but I’m afraid that is not going to be possible …” She didn’t deflate as quickly as I had hoped, looking more puzzled than depressed. “You see, Charon’s job is to protect me and my property. If he is off gallivanting around the wastes, he is unable to fulfill his purpose here.”

She nodded, but wasn’t ready to give up just yet. “I understand, truly, but surely you are not so defenseless or so surrounded by enemies that you couldn’t convince him to lend his services to me for a few hours… Besides, it was my understanding that he sometimes runs errands on your behalf that take him away from your bar for days…” I frowned at her comment, even though she did not say it with the malice I’m sure Graves had injected into _her_ words when telling the girl about those debt collection missions. That obnoxious old busy body was always on me about sending that ‘poor boy’ off to get shot at, as if it were somehow my fault that he had either become increasingly incompetent or suicidally reckless these past few years. What, did the crazy harridan think I _liked_ wasting money on her having to stitch the idiot back together? Luckily, the little smoothskin didn’t seem to notice my soured expression. “Regardless, I’d be happy to pay him for his time. I’m sure Miss Reilly would be more than grateful too. I don’t want to promise any reward on her behalf but…”

Again, I had to choke back laughter. Graves must have told this poor little sparrow everything _except_ the most important bit. “Oh, I am so sorry, my dear, but it doesn’t work that way,” I said gently. “You see, Charon is no ordinary thug or mercenary for hire, though I’m sure you guessed at that from your little ‘conversation’ earlier…”

The girl tilted her head to the side, apparently unsure of how to take my statement. “Well, he doesn’t strike me as a man of many words to be sure but…”

I chucked. “His company is rather refreshing, isn't it?” She clearly did not agree, her large nose wrinkling slightly. “Ah, I jest. But, word to the wise – don’t mistake his brevity for stupidity. That would be very unwise.”

“I… see… “ She obviously did not.

“Underestimating an opponent has been the last mistake of far too many individuals throughout history,” I quipped. “I know, he does resemble a dumb brute, but I warn you: he is much quicker and more clever than he lets on. What’s more, he is fiercely loyal to me and me alone.” I peered at the girl, hoping I was getting the point across. She needed to know that if she continued pestering me and the help, she did so at her own peril. Just in case I wasn’t getting through to her, I added, “really, he’s the best thug a barkeep like me could ask for. Keeps the drunks in line, makes sure everyone pays their tab… and if they don’t, well… Pretty much I point at something and Charon hurts it. Never bothers me with his own annoying sense of morality either…” 

Hm. Perhaps I’d gone too far. Rather than cowed into submission and leaving well enough alone, the girl looked utterly disgusted and a bit horrified. While there’s nothing more satisfying than bringing a bleeding-heart do-gooder down to wallow in the muck with the rest of their filthy brethren, I really didn’t need another one wailing about injustice or how I was a good for nothing poison peddler…

This girl had some self control though, it seemed. She quickly masked her distaste for me with a halfway decent poker face and a quick quirk of her brows. “You must have done him quite a good turn to inspire such…loyalty,” the girl stated, very matter of fact.

“Well, in a manner of speaking, I suppose so… I gave him…purpose, something he does very poorly without… You see, Charon grew up around a very …interesting group of individuals. They... well, I guess you could say that they brainwashed him…” There it was again, the fires of righteous anger burning in those big, yellow-green eyes. I suppressed a sigh as I added, “because of his… conditioning, shall we say, he is absolutely loyal to whomever holds his contract. Unfailing, unflinching, until the day that employment ends. And for now, _I_ hold that contract.”

"I see…” she murmured, barely containing her seething indignation. “So, he… is your slave, then…”

“Madame,” I cut in loftily, “You insult me.” The girl blinked, then shook her head, but I continued, enjoying how she finally seemed to wither and cringe under my glare. “I do not believe in slavery. It is… an abomination.” 

“I completely agree… “ she said after a moment, obviously disconcerted to be agreeing with me on anything. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any disrespect. I’m just …trying to wrap my head around…well… the concept.” She managed a weak, apologetic grin. I returned it cordially.

“Oh, I certainly understand your misconception. Indeed, he is quite a …tragic figure, in his way I suppose… But, you must believe me when I say that I am a firm believer in personal choice. Chains are far too easily earned; they need never be forced.” She nodded in hesitant agreement. “The fact of the matter is, Charon made some _choices_ that landed him in my employ. The details of our arrangement, however, are between him and I - no one else.”

She was quiet for a moment, considering my words. I could tell that they did not sit easily on heart, and I was debating if it were more likely that she would finally let the matter drop and let me sooth her worries with a nice bottle of bourbon, or that she would launch into a moralistic tirade like some of the more tiresome denizens of Underworld. But… she surprised (and amused) me once again by simply returning to her original line of inquiry. Determined little chit, wasn’t she. “Well, I won’t pry into the details, then, but perhaps… if he were willing to assist me on this rescue mission, it might assuage some of his guilt or ….” She twitched her hands impatiently, trying to find her words. “Or help pay off some of his debts to humanity…or his demons…or ….to you…?” 

I studied the little girl for a moment, trying to ascertain her angle. Why _was_ she so determined to rope my bouncer into some insane suicide mission? Had Graves put her up to it? See if getting him away from my “evil influence” for a while might somehow magically turn him into a normal person? Unlikely. That ghoul bitch knew damn well that his brain was a mess of not only that pseudo-religious cult shit but also of circuit boards and wires that reinforced his “programming”. …Were they trying to get him out of Underworld for a few hours so they could gang up on me? Again, not likely. Graves and Barrows were smart enough to know that even if he was not present at the time, Charon had standing orders to avenge any harm that might befall me in his absence. I doubted they were willing to risk a blood bath just to be rid of my influence.

So, then the purpose must be singular to this smoothskin… but what? All of the gossip surrounding her had indicated she was fresh out of some vault and looking for her family. I could understand that she might want to hire a protector to keep her from being eaten alive by the Wastes, but why bring up the Rangers then? Was one of her lost family members among the stranded she insisted was still alive? You’d think she’d have led with that as her reason for needing Charon were it so. Perhaps she sought permanent employment as a mercenary with the Rangers, and was using this suicidal rescue mission as a way to prove her mettle? That seemed even less likely! Why, she herself had stated she was no fighter. …Or was this her way to ensure the Rangers owed her some debt? Service in exchange for service as the Chairman used to say…? I rather hoped not. I might have to like her if that was the case.

The girl seemed somewhat unnerved by my scrutiny, fidgeting anxiously while searching for some way to convince me to help her. “If he is unwilling or…unable to run side jobs with strangers while you hold his contract…then…” The girl’s hands twisted around each other in knots. “Then perhaps I could ‘borrow’ his contract… a loan, if you will, to be returned upon successful completion of the mission.” I was about to give her a flat response in the negative, when she quickly added, “I believe the standard rate for a mercenary’s service is around 250 caps per job, yes?”

“Well…” I mused, impressed at her knowledge of the local economy but wondering if she had even _two_ caps to rub together. She was quite clean and put together for the wastes, though I had chalked that up to life as a vault dweller rather than any disposable income to waste on vanity. No satchel or purse tied to her belt either, though I couldn’t help but admire the Chinese sword at her hip. She might be a sanctimonious simpleton, but she did have good taste in weaponry at least.

“Look,” she cut into my thoughts. “I recognize, of course, that Charon is an unusually valuable asset. You can’t easily buy loyalty like what you’re describing. So, here’s the deal: I am willing to give you 500 caps right here, right now, as a retainer fee. If things go awry and we do not return, you will have the funds to secure the service of at least one, maybe two mercenaries. But if we do return, and I have every intention of doing so, I will return the contract and provide you another 250 caps for the inconvenience.”

I eyed the girl suspiciously, but she seemed to be completely sincere. Still… “An intriguing offer, to be sure, but… no. That won’t work. After all, while you seem to be a most charming and upright young lady, the fact of the matter is, we have only just met. While I am tempted, I find I cannot bring myself to trust you to give the contract back when all is said and done.” She opened her mouth to protest, but I held up a gnarled hand to stop her. “It is not that I don’t trust your word, Madame, no far from it. However, I fear that you shall grow…attached to the comfort that the presence of a loyal and fearless guardian might bring, and I shall be forced to find men to hunt you down to return what is mine.”

She didn’t like those words, not one bit. I was wondering if her teeth might crack or even explode from the way she was gritting them when she took a deep breath and stared into my eyes. “Very well. Then perhaps I could buy his contract off of you. Or hell, if you have some job you need help with...”

“A job…?” I considered this, then grinned. “That might be possible, though I don’t think you’ll like the job I have to offer…” Her eyes were already narrowing. This should be fun. “You see, I don’t like competition… no, not at all. It goes against every principle that I have as a businessman. So, the fact that there is another source for booze in town…troubles me…” She cocked a brow at me but said nothing, waiting for clarification. I leaned forward and hissed, “Greta, the waitress over at Carol’s… I want you to kill her. I don’t care how, so long as it’s quiet. Do that, and you can _have_ Charon’s contract…”

I confess, I was disappointed by her… lack of reaction. She merely stared back at me this time, her gaze steely, her tone dry. “I was thinking something more along the lines of repairing the broken PA system up there so your radio could carry further than the bar, or scavving any old bars you knew of to get you some supplies…”

I chuckled. “No stomach for hard work, eh?” I quipped, grinning at her stony expression. “Oh, come off it now, I’m kidding. After all… what is it those Pre-war capitalists used to say…? ‘competition is the keen edge of business’ or something like that?” To be fair, I preferred the idea that ‘competition is never so healthy as total domination’, and really, it was a shame the girl was such a goody goody. I actually _might_ have given her that contract if she had offed that cantankerous witch since the loss would surely drop her partner, good old loved-by-everyone Carol, straight into my web… and if Carol was under my control and in my debt… 

“One thousand caps. Right here, right now.”

“…Pardon?” I glanced at the girl, who still wore her stony expression though now with a layer of irritation.

“One thousand caps for Charon’s contract. You can easily get three or four guards for that. What you have them do from there…” She sighed and clenched her hands to fists, but continued, “that’s your business.” 

…And I’ll be damned if she wasn’t serious… 

I leaned back on my heels, rubbing at my jaw. I hadn’t honestly been considering letting this crazy kid have the contract…but for 1000 caps…? This required some actual consideration.

Charon _could_ be a valuable asset at times. His mere presence was usually more than enough to keep the drunks in line, and there was the time he had sopped up a few bullets meant for me. …But… I _had_ been suspicious of my star ‘employee’ for a while now. He never _failed_ the tasks I set before him, but more and more it seemed that he was always looking for loopholes in my orders, or working to interpret his contract in such a way as to forbid him from acting. Why, just the other day, he had flat out refused to break that idiot Patchwork’s arm again, citing increased hostility among the other denizens of Underworld that could cause irreparable harm to my reputation and business. Then, despite my repeated admonishments, it seemed that he had decided to take the order “watch the bar” literally, not bothering to actually stop the miscreants in the place from stealing product. And then there were all the times he’d stumbled back here with more lead than blood in his body when he’d only been sent to recover the debts of some junkie degenerates. Sure, he always had the exact amount requested in hand, but I found it increasingly suspicious that he kept running into so many raider gangs when he was supposed to have been trained in stealth. Either he was suicidal and thus a liability, or he was using the raiders’ caps in place of those he’d been sent to collect. If so, he was missing the point of the whole exercise: to remind these capitalist pigs that through their own vice and greed, they had indebted themselves to me. 

As I mulled this over, the girl continued staring at me expectantly. Poor little naif. It was a shame she probably wouldn’t survive this ill-advised ‘mission’ of hers. It would have been so delightful to watch her fall into degeneracy, prostitution, and slavery like all the rest. But… 1000 caps in hand and one potential problem solved… “Mm…. Yes… yes, I suppose that could work…” I toned my voice to sound somewhat unsure, but finally looked straight at her with a grin. “I expect my payment in full, of course…”

“Of course…” she echoed, and to my happy surprise, unbuttoned the thick leather jacket she was wearing, revealing neat round tubes stitched into the lining. …Clever girl… She pulled a small pocket knife from a clip on her belt, slit the cords binding four of these tubes, then placed them on the bar in front of me. The ends, freed from the lining, split a bit on the impact, revealing the inherently worthless bits of scrap within; worthless bits of scrap that I could reinvest in my efforts to give the good citizens of this land more than enough drink and drugs to drown their sorrows…and themselves.

“There’s 250 caps per sleeve,” she stated as I ran my gnarled fingers down the fraying fabric, feeling the sharp edges of the metal underneath. “So that’s 1000 total. Do we have a deal?”

I glanced from the caps back up to her determined eyes. “Mm, I suppose we do.” Pinching the tops of the tubes, I picked them up and turned to the wall safe, which I left unlocked during normal business hours. I set the caps within before pressing the hidden button that released the secret compartment holding that scrap of cloth-like paper. Covered in hieroglyphic symbols of some dead language, I had to admit that I had no idea what the thing actually said. Luckily, memorizing every word of every page had apparently been programmed into the golem’s head, or I would not have known the extent of my luck when I had first come upon him. Covered in the blood of his former employer, nearly driven feral by the guilt of his ‘crime’ and subsequent lack of direction... ah, he had been such an obedient dog back then. Shame how things had changed.

I shook the paper with a snap to throw off some of the dust, then handed it to the girl who, seeing the ‘writing’, looked confused. I just smiled in what I hoped wasn’t too wicked a manner. “Here’s the contract. And I’ll leave the pleasure of informing Charon to you.”

The woman looked away from the scribbles on the paper, and nodded at me before again extending her hand. “Thank you. I appreciate this.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” I assured her, giving that soft little hand another squeeze before releasing her to her fate. She hurried over to her new pet monster and seemed to be trying to converse with him. A futile endeavor to be sure. He might have been trained in conversation, as he once told me, but clearly _that_ was training that didn’t take. Ah well. Not my problem any more.

I turned to my safe, brushing my fingers over the caps one more time. Oh, damage I could do with these, I thought. The Chairman would have been proud. I might not have been the greatest spy in the conventional sense, but when it came to corrupting these fools and causing decay and rot from the inside out, I was undoubtedly a true master. And even now, over two centuries since any of it mattered, damn if I didn't still love every minute....

“Ahzrukhal,” a familiar voice rasped behind me. I turned, eyebrow raised to behold my now former employee standing at attention. His face and tone were expressionless and hard to read as ever, but he seemed very intent on having a word with me. I faced him fully, prompting him to continue, “I am told I am no longer in your employ.”

I smirked. “That’s right Charon…have you come to say goodbye?”

The dull grey-blue eyes of the golem before me suddenly seemed to ignite, flashing like lightning in the clouds of a hurricane. The impassive expression morphed into one of gleeful abhorrence. “Yes,” he hissed, thin lips twisted into a slight simile. The change was so sudden, so unexpected, I didn’t even see him reaching for the gun on his back, a massive beast of a weapon as powerful and deadly as its owner. All I saw was those flashing eyes, full of life and a fire I had never known them to hold, eyes that caught the light of the shotgun as it sparked twice. 

And then, only darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere I read that Ahzrukhal's race was classified as Asian, though for the life of me, I'm not sure where. Whatever the case, it sent me down this mental tangent of him being a former Chinese spy (or at least a wannabe) tasked with corrupting and financially enslaving the American "enemy". But hey, maybe corruption and financial domination is just his kink.


	2. Starting Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Girl meets ghoul, ghoul blows off former employer's head....

Blood and tissue spattered along the floors, the wall, the ceiling. It was the most beautiful sight I had seen in decades. I only had that one brief moment, but I savored it, committing the fear in that bastard’s eyes to memory as I wondered that his insides and organs were not as black and twisted as his soul. But, I could not linger. My new Employer had new orders, no doubt.

I returned Styx to its holster along my spine, turning to face the human who had wrested control of my contract from the former barkeep, and was dismayed to see that her expression was one of shock and horror. “What… the fuck…” I saw more than heard her say as she raised her eyes from the mess behind the bar to my face.

I assumed she meant to inquire why I had destroyed my former Employer. “Ahzrukhal was an evil bastard,” I replied simply. But she was still staring at me, mouth agape. Perhaps she required further explanation? “So long as he held my contract, I was honor bound to do as he commanded. But now you are my Employer, which freed me to rid the world of that disgusting rat. And now, for good or ill, I serve you.” The human nodded slightly, but her eyes remained wide and fearful. This action had displeased her, clearly - not a good start to this new employment – but knowing he would not corrupt, hurt, or blackmail another soul was worth whatever punishment she would inflict. 

“I… I see…” she stammered out at last, eyes flitting now between me and the mess in the background. “But…I mean…There….” She paused suddenly, closing her eyes and cupping her hands over her mouth and nose, breathing deeply. It seemed strange to me that she should be so upset over so slight a loss. Indeed, whatever promise or payment she had made would now be hers to recoup. I should have thought this would please her. Instead, though, even after calming herself, I read despair in her eyes. This was _definitely_ not a good start to my new employment.

“Ok. We…I should talk to Doctor Barrows…he is in charge here, right?”

I considered her question. “His word is often used as the final say on matters of arbitration.” 

“Okay… okay. Then we need to talk to him…” She must mean in regards to Ahzrukhal, I mused as she hurried towards the door, brow furrowed in thought. I followed as I was bound, noting how the other residents cowered away as we passed, and how that seemed to inspire my new Employer to adopt an increasingly dejected posture. 

And then I understood. 

There had been rumors since the human had arrived some days back, which of course I had listened to for any signs of intended harm to my now former Employer. It seemed she had won the approval of many the denizens of the Underworld, a smoothskinned Persephone bringing spring to the forgotten souls of this forsaken place. But now my act of violence, though with the best of intentions, had tarnished that reputation by association. A familiar ache began to throb in my head, a spider writhing against my eyeball. I wondered what means of punishment this Employer would use, hoping she would enact it soon. The anticipation was almost always worse than actual retribution. 

My Employer shoved open the door to the clinic, its blood-and-chemical tinged air stinging at my eyes and the ruins of my nose. The doctor, nurse, and another patient – a mercenary whose occasional presence in Underworld had never caused me grief – turned immediately to regard my Employer with surprise, though I was somewhat confused that, upon seeing me, the nurse smiled.

“I… I have…something to report… concerning Mr. Ahzrukhal… Ah, as you can see, I was able to…ah… obtain Charon’s services as I had hoped, but well…” She wrung her hands in front of her as she spoke, bringing to mind many of the unfortunates I had been set upon when explaining why they were unable to cover their debts. My head throbbed worse than before. “It seems that there was some bad blood between them, which…well, the short of it is that Ahzrukhal is dead.” 

Only the other human seemed surprised by her statement. The nurse actually laughed while the doctor nodded and returned to his notes. “Good riddance,” he grumbled. “General health around here should improve without him peddling his poison.”

My Employer seemed utterly at a loss by their response. “Oh… Well… That is… good…but… I need to know, what sort of repercussions there are for this…um…action…”

The doctor spared her a glance, his brow raised slightly. “Which one of you shot the bastard?” I bowed my head to his inquiry. “Why come?”

I felt my employer’s eyes on me, curious herself it seemed, so I decided to answer the Doctor’s query. “The action was taken of my own volition, but it could be argued that it was taken in defense of my Employer,” I stated. The human’s expression changed from worry to confusion. 

“Defense… of me? What do you mean?”

“Yes. Ahzrukhal was not a man of honor. His sole purpose in this world was to corrupt, blackmail, and enslave others to him by chemical and financial means. As a human and someone who took something of his, he would have expended extra effort to ensure you were among his victims.” I did not add that he also would have likely arranged an ‘accident’ to re-obtain my contract at some point… probably right after the first few of my replacements told him to take a swan-dive off the Washington Monument upon being told to beat some poor soul senseless for a few caps.

“Honestly, sweetheart, we would have run that chem pushing creep out of town by now if it wasn’t for him,” Nurse Graves gestured at me. “So really, you did us all a favor… both of you.” She grinned at me again. It was most disconcerting. “Gotta say, it’s good to know you _do_ still have a mind of your own in there somewhere, Charon.” 

“So now you’re gonna go and help my men, right?” the other human interrupted anxiously. 

My Employer started at her voice, but then but nodded with a quick smile. “Yes, …well, that’s the plan… So, if there are any consequences for the uh…. death of Ahzrukhal, I am hoping they can be put on hold until after…”

The doctor turned and fully looked at my Employer. He appeared to be amused. “You ever hear the term frontier justice?” She nodded hesitantly. “Well, this here is the frontier, and I say justice was served.” He turned his gaze to me, sterner than before. “Though maybe you can consider helping this kid on her rescue mission as recompense for the mess I’m sure you left up there.”

I glanced to my Employer. I was unsure what mission the doctor spoke of, but if she would accept… “Do you concur?” I inquired.

The human was clearly confused – Ahzrukhal must not have explained the conditions of the contract to her very well, if at all – but she eventually shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, sure…” The spider behind my eye eased up on its chaotic dance.

The doctor, meanwhile, just nodded and again returned to his work. “Good. I suggest you hurry. What super mutants lack in higher brain function, they make up for in ferocity and persistence.”

The other human looked imploringly at my Employer. “Yeah, and my men have been up there for…hell, I don’t even know how long now…”

My Employer nodded. “Don’t worry, Reilly. God willing, we’ll get them home safe.” She tried to smile again, but it was twisted by anxiety. 

The nurse then walked over and patted her shoulder. “Just be careful, dear. And you,” she fixed her gaze on me. “You take good care of this one!”

I couldn’t help but cock my brow at her in response. “That is my job, yes.” 

“I mean it, Charon.” 

This time, I did not bother to respond. I almost felt insulted that she might assume I would do anything to the contrary. 

“Come on, let’s go…” My Employer’s voice was soft, tight with nerves, but she still flashed a small smile up at me. I did not detect any malice or secret agenda in that smile, a fact which I found even more unnerving. After all, it is often the most subtle and outwardly kind Employers who are the most devious and cruel at heart.

***

The repairman stopped her by the door to the great lobby, even going so far as to grasp her shoulder. I wondered if I should force him back, but my Employer did not seem to mind. “Are you okay, kid?” I heard him ask in a hushed tone. 

The human just nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit… well, what can I say, Winthrop? I’m a _long_ way from home. Mind you, I’m not necessarily complaining but…”

“Heh. Bit of a culture shock out here in the wild wastelands?”

“Yeah. Exactly. I mean, it was one thing down in Point Lookout or out in the Wastes where there’s not much of an organized ‘civilization’… Underworld just …it feels more structured, I guess.” 

“Aw, well, you’re doin’ fine, kid. Just be careful out there, aright? Don’t want to lose Underworld’s best scrap collector!” 

She made an attempt at another smile as the handyman gave her shoulder one more friendly pat then ambled off about his business. My Employer looked up at me then. She seemed worried. Clearly, I would need to explain the details of the contract to her soon as knowing I could do her no harm should put her mind at ease. However, as the conversation in the clinic and now her rapid movement out of the city and into the great lobby indicated, she was currently in a hurry.

We had crossed halfway across the great lobby and were beneath the shadow of the decayed mammoth when she suddenly stopped and spun around to face me again. “Look, I… here’s the deal, Charon…Kharon…? …God, I’m sorry, but how do _you_ pronounce your name? Ahzrukhal said it as Share-in, and Tulip said Chay-ron, and I always thought it was khay-Ron…”

I blinked at her, surprised by her query. In truth, it mattered little – so long as I could recognize when she addressed me, the pronunciation was of no importance – but she clearly wanted a definitive answer. I had been Khay-ron once, but that was well over a century in the past. Previous Employers had used myriad pronunciations and sometimes even entirely different monikers, assuming they bothered with a name at all. And indeed, Ahzrukhal had always used Sharon. I gathered the name was originally considered feminine and thus its application to me could be seen as insulting, but I honestly could not have cared less. Still, all that in mind… “It matters little, but perhaps you might use the Cheir-on pronunciation?” I suggested. 

“Cheiron…Charon… Got it.” She started to walk forward, when she suddenly smacked her hand to her forehead and turned again, seeming to be embarrassed. “I’m so sorry. I’m Erin, Erin Connelly. I’m afraid this whole…ah…relationship has gotten off to a bit of a wild and confusing start, to say the least…” As she spoke, lips in a lopsided smile, she held her hand to me. I stared at it, then at her, unsure of her desire. I had seen her shake hands with Ahzrukhal…was it presumptive of me to think that was her intent? Strange for an Employer, especially a human, but… Mine is not to question. I extended my palm as well, and after a rather awkward pause, she did indeed take it with a firm grip. I mimicked the action, still uncertain of what was expected, but this seemed to be the response she sought as she once again smiled fully at me. “We have a _lot_ to discuss, I know, but right now there’s a group of people who are in desperate need of help. You know Reilly, the lady in the clinic?” I nodded. “Well, so apparently she and her Rangers got swarmed by super mutants and were trapped up on the roof of the Statesman hotel. Reilly herself managed to get out so she could try and find help but… that didn’t go so well. We’re not sure how long she’s been out, exactly, and I honestly don’t know for certain that her men are still alive, but… I heard their radio broadcast when I was out scavving around the Mall. It sounds like they’ve set up a good defense but don’t have the ammo or manpower to fight their way back down the tower. So I…well…” She was pulling at her hands again. “I promised Reilly I would try to help them. Thing is, I don’t think I can do it alone. Nurse Graves told me that you would be the best hope for all of us making it out of this in one piece… so…you willing to come with me?”

…Was I _willing_ to come _with_ her to fight super mutants? That she planned to lead a dangerous mission in person was unusual in itself; most of my Employers would have given me my orders and waited impatiently for my return. That she did not caused my inner organs to twist uncomfortably as most of the Employers I’d worked for who insisted on coming along on such a task were either sadists who delighted in the suffering of myself and others, or those who gave constant (and often conflicting) orders, but then complained incessantly about my perceived incompetence or laziness. Whatever the case, the addition of the word “willing” was equally perplexing and again had me questioning if this human knew what the meaning of a “contract” was.

Unfortunately, with all these thoughts running through my mind, I did not realize I had continued to silently stare at my Employer to the point she felt she had to fill the void with more words. “Look, I know. It’s extremely dangerous…suicidal even… but I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing!" she explained needlessly in a tone I could only consider apologetic. "I am sorry to have roped you into this without your permission, but…well… You didn’t exactly give me a chance to ask you directly, after all…” 

I thought back to when she had first entered the 9th Circle and had tried to converse with me. My orders then, though, had been clear... “Ahzrukhal did not approve of my…interacting with others… He didn't want it to interfere with my duties.” 

“Yeah… I sorta figured…” She worried at her hands again. “But… well, that’s the situation.” She took a breath, then looked at me with an imploring expression. “I won’t lie, Charon, I _need_ your help on this, but… I’m not about to force you to risk your life for me.”

I hesitated a moment, before calmly reminding her, “you are my Employer. I will do as you command.”

Much to my consternation, she frowned at my words, which apparently had only served to vex her further. “I know, but …look, what I’m trying to say…” She paused, thinking. “If you don’t want to work for me, or don’t want to help me on this mission, I understand…” She dug around in a pocket on the interior side of her leather coat, finally withdrawing my contract. She glanced it over a moment, puzzling over the writing, before she held it out to me. “Don’t get me wrong – I hope that you will help me; I just don’t want to force you. But, time being of the essence right now, I need to know: are you willing to give me a hand, or do you prefer to follow your own path?”

I looked at the contract, then back at her, trying to decipher her true intention. She couldn’t really mean what she said, could she? This had to be some sort of test of my loyalty, of my training and adherence to the contract and the Laws it represented... …She couldn’t possibly fail to understand the intent and meaning of the contract so entirely, could she? …and if so, how could _I_ possibly help her understand?!

“Miss,” I began after a moment to consider _my_ words, “it is my Fate to serve whomever holds my contract in matters concerning their protection, especially as it relates to combat situations. You are now the holder of that contract, and thus I am Fated to serve and protect you. To do otherwise would be Hubris.”

For a moment, I thought she would argue further; but then, at last, I saw understanding in her eyes as she lowered her arm and my contract back to her side. What I still did not understand, though, was that this seemed to make her sad. Most of my previous Employers had been overjoyed when they realized what that contract meant for them. One had even danced about the room whooping and cheering like a madman. …which he did prove to be but… Such a contrast to this strange, thin human who simply nodded at me before placing the contract back in the lining of her jacket. “Alright. Well, we can talk about it later. Right now, though, we _really_ need to get a move on if we have any hope of saving those rangers…”

“Very well. I shall follow,” I replied.

***

Before we fully left the Underworld, my Employer went to one of the old, battered lockers off the main lobby and pulled out a stash of equipment, assuaging some of my concerns about her preparedness for a mission of the description she had provided. “Give me just a moment to gear up here… shit, I should have asked if you needed…” She slung a heavy looking cross-body pack onto the floor in front of her then looked to me again. “If you’re really okay coming with me on this, what do you need to prepare?”

I considered the question. “Ammunition. Explosives.” She looked at me a bit longer, seeming to expect me to say more, but then quirked her head while raising her brows.

“Well, that’s doable… let’s see…what’s your weapon there take?”

“Shells.”

“Shotgun shells? Hm…let’s see…” She rummaged in her satchel for a moment before pulling out a couple boxes of ammunition and handing them to me. A moment later, she also pulled out a couple of grenades and a handful of stimpacks to boot, then also handed me three bottles of unusually clean looking water and what appeared to be some sort of preserved meat. “Brahmin jerky,” she explained as I took it from her. “I just got it from Carol so it should be pretty good. … God, I’m sorry. I should ask… I mean, you were working all day before I came along and fucked everything up. We really _do_ need to move out but if you need a break, to eat, get something from your quarters….”

….Ahzrukhal had clearly told her nothing at all about my contract and conditioning. …Or perhaps he did, but she had chosen to disregard the information for some reason. Another test perhaps? Or was she really just that …clueless? “I am fine,” I replied. She looked as if she didn’t quite believe me but turned again to her pack. 

“Well, alright. But hey, you need anything, let me know…. Got a backup weapon?” I nodded, feeling the knife against my hip. She then dug around in the satchel for a few minutes more before slinging it over her shoulder. That was followed by a back-born holster for her rifle, a holster on her left leg to hold a silenced 10mm, and another above that on her hip to carry a laser pistol. Combined with the sword on her other hip, it struck me as more than a bit overkill, but… mine is not to question. She then strapped a bandolier across her chest, into which she deftly sorted out ammo, stims, and a couple grenades of her own. Her movements were practiced, habitual, and spoke of one who more familiar to combat than she looked or let on.

“Ok…. I think that’s everything…” she said as she grabbed the last item from the locker – an Old World army helmet – and placed it on her head. “Ok, anything else you need? More ammo? Armor? All set? Alright. Well, like I said, you need something, let me know. …..Now…let’s see…. Reilly said the hospital they got stuck at was right off a ‘dry sewer’? Ugh…sounds…fun… ” As she spoke, she once again moved towards the exit, and in a moment, we were squinting into the mid-morning sun. 

It had been quite a while, I thought, since I had been subjected to the glare of the sky. Ahzrukhal had been thoroughly disgusted by the amount he had been obliged to spend on medical care the last time I had returned, and thus had not seen fit to send me out again. It was a cursed blessing. On one hand, I was trapped in that stinking hellhole, watching him work his evil to ensnare the denizens of the Underworld in his web of addiction. On the other, I was not required to add insult to injury for his former victims who had grown smart enough to try and escape. Over and again I had told myself that it was not my place to question his will; he was my Employer, and mine was to follow. But I knew that the intent of my creation was to protect and follow those of _honorable_ intent, who respected family, guests, and the Gods…not some self-important pissant who got his kicks by hurting others. 

My train of thought was interrupted by the pungent odor of cigarette smoke and accompanying familiar presence of the self-appointed gate guard, Willow. She regarded me and my new Employer with her characteristic blood-red smirk. “Well, so the rumor is true? Old Ass-rukhal is pushin’ up daisies, and the tourist has herself a new pet…”

Her quip seemed to displease my Employer, whose expression was immediately stony. “It’s not exactly the situation I expected, but he said he was alright coming along on this one at least…”

“Well, of course he did,” the ghoul snorted. Her tone was amiable but my Employer seemed even more annoyed. She gave no orders nor took any action to reprimand Willow however, instead just shaking her head. 

“I know… But.. look, there’s no time to argue…”

“I ain’t arguin’, tourist. Just stating the obvious. Anyways, I still think you’re crazy, runnin’ off to save a bunch of dopes like that, but…” her rheumy brown eyes turned to me as her smirk deepened. “A little fresh air and some _righteous_ mayhem’ll do the old Ferryman a bit of good, I think.”

My Employer looked at a loss for words for a moment, but then shrugged. “Invite still stands, by the way. We could always use an extra gun…”

“Not a chance in Hell, kid,” Willow replied with a grin. “But hey, be safe and have fun!”

“Oh. Yeah. Getting chased around an unstable ruin by a bunch of mutant lunatics who want to eat me. Greeeeat fun,” my Employer replied with a roll of her eyes though a slight grin as well, the sarcasm dripping from her voice. 

Willow just chuckled before fixing her gaze on me. “You too, big guy. Have fun, and stay safe.”

She waved as we descended the long flight of stairs into the metro tunnels. My employer returned the gesture with a smirk. I simply followed her into the depths.

***

The old tunnels were as dusty, dank, and claustrophobic as ever, but unusually devoid of foes. Being that my Employer was a human, I was expecting to be swarmed by ferals at any moment. However, though we did have to step around a decent number of discolored and disfigured raider corpses, there were no signs of living enemies. Perhaps the idiots in the tin cans had made a sweep to take out the trash? That would be a rare instance of them actually doing something worthwhile…

One tunnel led to another, led to another, led to some natural cave formations, then another tunnel before we found ourselves in what signs proclaimed to be Dupont Circle station. Here, my Employer paused to glance at the miniature ‘pip-boy’ computer on her wrist before leading us up the stairs and back into the light of day. Just short of the surface, she paused again to consider the device, leaving me to scan the area for danger. …which I immediately located. I quickly ducked back and tapped the wall near the girl to get her attention. “It’s my duty to inform you, that it is not safe here,” I hissed. “The area ahead is swarming with raiders – an entire gang - surrounded by land mines.”

“….well shit….” She bit at her lower lip, sighing quietly in frustration. “Any good vantage points from which to snipe’m down?”

I considered this a moment then shook my head. “None we could reach from here without being spotted first.”

“….Damnit…” She then crept back towards the metro, gesturing (unnecessarily) for me to follow. Once back within the shadows, she sighed again and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “So, we need to get to the ‘Our Lady of Hope’ hospital. Reilly said to use some tunnels called the ‘dry sewers’ which is apparently up there somewhere …. “ She gestured to the stairs that lead to the raider camp. “While I don’t take issue with eliminating a bunch of drugged up cannibal-highwaymen, exactly, I admit I’d rather conserve our strength and ammo for the real battle.” I nodded in agreement at this statement as she began to dig in her satchel again, but appeared to come up empty. “Damn. I used my last stealth boy trying to get back through the Mall…” For a moment, we stood there in silence as she appeared to rack her brain for options. “Any ideas? Suggestions?” 

“The hospital you seek, it is the one off of Vernon Square?”

“…I…. guess? Is it next to the Statesman hotel?”

I nodded. “Yes. I believe I do know of the passage of which you speak; however, especially given the raider presence up there, it might be easier to simply retrace our steps to the White Line tunnels and take them to the Vernon Square area. However, I cannot say for sure if we might run into an even more dangerous situation on the way.”

“Mm. Go with the demon you know or…” she quipped, but smiled at me. Again. “Well, it’s worth checking out, me thinks. You?”

“….as you lead, I shall follow.” She emitted a sharp breath of air at this for some reason, but quickly turned and descended back to the tunnels.

***

A few minutes and some squashed rad roaches later, we emerged into the open, though the remnants of the above-ground station and its decaying trains at least offered decent cover. Good thing too as almost immediately we heard the telltale stomping of feet far larger than ours and deep, gruff voices bickering about such pleasant topics as the edibility of ghouls vs. insects (I was not sure if I should feel relieved or insulted that ghouls only narrowly won out as a preferable food source). In front of me, my Employer crouched down behind an old train car, sighing deeply. Feeling my eyes watching her, she gave me a guilty grin and whispered, “I really hate these guys. It’s like nothing short of a perfect head shot can take them down!” She pursed her lips to one side of her face, expression thoughtful, before exhaling and risking a peek around the edge of the train. “…Looks like ….three? Maybe more? There’s one up there on the ledge overlooking the car lot, one further down the way, and another above that…”

“At least two behind us as well,” I added, looking up through broken floorboards and ruined walls to observe a pair of greenskins to our right. 

My Employer cursed again, and came back around the edge of the train, obviously exasperated. “So it comes down to a squad of these guys, or back tracking to the raider gang and their mines……ugh. What a choice.” She then turned to me. “What do you think?”

I debated telling her exactly what I thought – that this was a fool’s errand of a suicide mission – but knew that was not the response she sought. Instead, I surveyed the situation. “You mentioned seeking a position to snipe from earlier. I take it that long range combat is your preference?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Did a lot of target practice growing up, but not so much on the hand to hand or close quarters.”

“Mn…” I murmured in acknowledgement, thinking through our options. I saw no point in back tracking to the raiders. While potentially easier to bring down in terms of sheer endurance, the (relatively) higher intelligence and numbers of the raiders struck me as the more dangerous option. Besides, if dosed up on psycho as they often were, most raiders were about as difficult to put down and as fearsome a combatant as any super mutant. Add to that, it would still be a walk from the metro station to the sewer she had spoken of, and who knew what might have taken up residence in there… 

No, the mutants were the safer of two dangerous options, especially if my Employer were a half-way decent shot and her rifle as sturdy as it appeared at a glance. The two standing out in the open as sentries would certainly be prime targets for a sharp shooter. Of course, those ensconced within the ruined buildings above and potentially around us would be harder to eliminate. I knew too well that going in after them was never a good idea; some of the mutants with more than a single brain cell had a penchant for rigging mines and setting traps - which true, they set them off on themselves more often than not - but it was still a bigger risk than I liked to take with an Employer in tow. …But then again, if they were to come down to ground level to charge our position, the sheer number of old cars in the area would make a clean shot difficult and a massive explosion likely. Centuries of disuse and weathering often left these relics unstable, with fuel cartridges prone to the formation of cracks in the protective linings or to dislodgement of the graphene rods at the slightest provocation. This in turn often resulted in a small but powerful nuclear meltdown. If we were caught in a fire fight while surrounded by those potential hazards, or if said hazards cascaded into a chain reaction…

I felt my Employer’s eyes still on me, and realized she was probably growing impatient with my silence. Clearing my throat, I made my proposal. “I would suggest we take up positions a bit more to the left so those on our 3 can’t shoot us through the gaps in the floor…” She nodded, scooching over until there was no clear site line for them to get at us. “Then, you open fire and take out as many as you can at range. I will withhold fire until I am certain they have seen us, or when they are close enough that I can be certain of hitting them with the full force of my rounds. Just one further precaution I would strongly suggest: try not to hit the vehicles and refrain from use of explosives.”

“Really? I was thinking we might be able to set off those old wrecks and use the explosions to our advantage…”

I glanced at her, wondering if she wanted me to respond and if she wanted the truth if so. To this point, at least, giving her the facts hadn’t immediately caused me any issues, so I continued. “I don’t recommend that strategy. As densely packed as the vehicles are, the rupture of one is likely to result in the rupture of the others. The subsequent explosion might result in severe structural damage to the buildings around us,” I stated cautiously, observing no hint of rage or annoyance in her eyes as I had often seen in other employers when contradicted. “I believe that this station is sturdy enough to withstand the blast itself, but I would be concerned that the resulting excess of concussive force, radiation, and shrapnel could do you harm.”

“True… or knock one of these old train cars over and smoosh us both. …ugh. So yeah, okay. No explosions then.” She grinned at me before she pulled the rifle from her back, preparing it and then her position for combat. “We’ll go with your plan then and be careful about where we point our guns…so, ready to get this party started?” At my nod, she snuck around the corner of the train, took aim… and…

The noise of the gunshot was amplified and echoed by the station’s architecture, causing me to wince slightly. But, to her credit, the shot was true and one of the mutants collapsed to the ground, stone dead. A second shot at another target also hit its mark, punching through the mutant’s cheek and taking most of the jawbone with it. But, mutants being mutants, the pain only seemed to enrage the beast rather than disable it in any way. I heard my Employer curse under her breath as she took aim again. The mutant was on the move now though, and thus a more difficult target. Moreover, my Employer seemed a bit flustered, glancing away from the mark to see where the other enemies were. 

“Miss,” I whispered quickly, “keep your attention on those you see and take them down as you see fit. Don’t worry about the rest - I got your back.”

“Thanks, Charon,” she said in a manner that appeared sincere as she refocused on her target. The injured beast was wailing in agonized rage and shooting a beat-up assault rifle in our general direction. The old station, however, cast dark shadows over our hiding place and distorted sound to where discerning its origin was near impossible. As such, we were not yet in any immediate danger, though I could just make out a flash of muddy green through the holes in the old office towers as another mutant tore down a set of stairs relatively near…

Another explosive blast of gunfire, and the jawless mutant’s entire head seemed to explode, but the victory was short lived as the two we had seen on our right charged into the scene, one armed with a missile launcher of all things. I inched closer to my employer, positioning myself to where I could cover her with my frame were the greenskin’s aim to be true, but she had seen him too and took aim for his head. This shot she missed entirely, however. She cursed, cycled the action, then raised the rifle to try again, but in that same movement, also flicked her wrist a certain way. The Pip-boy buzzed lightly and I saw its display flashing different images and calculations. Then she was firing, aiming this time for the knees of the nearest creature, then for the elbow of the one with the missile launcher, and then at the head of the one who had just emerged from the ruins to our left. The shots, though fired in extremely rapid procession, all appeared to hit, the third proving fatal. That monster’s legs failed and sent him careening headlong into the sharp edge of a rusted guard rail where he ceased all movement. The mutant with the launcher, meanwhile, had dropped the heavy weapon -on his toes, judging by how he was hopping about - while the other continued to limp towards our position, screaming incoherently about ripping us limb from limb. 

Once more, my employer took aim, but both of the beasts were surrounded by vehicles, and I could feel her hesitation. I quietly rapped my fingers on the train car near her, which gave her a start. “My apologies,” I said quickly, then added, “I can take it from here.”

She nodded, though her brow remained furrowed. It grew more so as I slipped past her, then through the shadows around the ruined vehicles towards the mutant still stumbling forward despite his useless left leg. He was hollering so loudly that he never heard me approach, and thus was easily dispatched with a quick flick of my blade across his neck. But then, an angry roar behind me had me cursing under _my_ breath: the other mutant had spotted me. Although his right arm swung useless and shattered at his side, he was still intent on destroying me and my Employer, having pulled an old traffic sign from the ground to use as a make-shift long-handled axe. He charged at me, the “weapon” lowered like a lance at my gut, but I easily sidestepped. His momentum carried him well past me and beyond the line of explosive obstacles, giving me plenty of time and an opening to grab Styx from my back and take aim. He was spinning around, sign rising into the air to be brought down like a scythe as he turned, when I fired. At this close distance, the entire round blasted into his torso, knocking him back a step. The round would kill him, powerful though he was, but not as fast as I wanted. I cycled the chamber and took another shot, this time at his head. The face of the monster was utterly obliterated, and what little grey matter he had splattered across the trailer of an old truck behind him, a grotesque mural. 

I stood then a moment, listening and watching for any other signs of movement, but aside from the concussion of gunshots from some battle far off in the distance and the hiss of the wind through the ruins, it was quiet. Reholstering Styx, I turned back to the station and saw that my Employer was already coming towards me. She flashed me another grin as she neared, chirping out a compliment of all things. “Nice work, Charon!” I was unsure how she preferred me to respond – some Employers insisted on their Employees groveling at any nicety – but took a risk that a nod was enough. It apparently was, at least for now, for this Employer simply refocused on the task at hand. 

“Alright…so that’s the hotel….don’t see or hear anything…. Ugh. Well, worst to worst, they’re dead but we can still bring Reilly some closure if so.” I said nothing, merely continued to survey the area for potential threats. “That must be the hospital down to the right…ahh and I see.” She gestured to a twisted length of girded metal stretching between the two buildings. “That must be what she was telling me about - how they got into the hotel…so to get there, we need to find our way to the second floor of the hospital…” 

I followed as she walked quickly toward the hospital, stepping carefully through a still-sticky puddle of blood and through the double doors into what must have been a waiting room. Ancient corpses and coffee mugs littered the floor and sprawled across dilapidated desks and chairs. I wondered if it was the radiation or the heat that killed them first.

From here, there appeared to be two paths; my Employer took the one on her left, creeping silently down the halls. Though I thought I could hear gruff voices in the distance, the place was otherwise silent….at least, until we passed by an abandoned pram. Suddenly, the cries of a child laced with the artificiality of electronic noise echoed in the narrow hall, and there was a winching creak of a trap being sprung. Without thinking, I lunged forward, my mass colliding with that of my Employer who, slight of build and startled, fell forward as I had intended. I caught us both, my larger frame like a bridge above hers, shielding her from the concussive force and shrapnel from the blast that, an instant later, exploded from the now disintegrated baby carriage. I felt some bit of debris scrape across my spine and a few other bits bite into my shoulder and the backs of my thighs, but nothing of any particular note or concern. Far more worrying was the noise of the explosion and what it might attract. 

Indeed, no sooner had I hoisted myself back into a crouch, observing to my relief that my Employer seemed uninjured, I heard the unwantedly familiar sound of flesh slapping against broken linoleum and a gruesome, gargling moan. The tentacle-like tongues came into view first as the aberration rounded the corner, and I heard my Employer gasp in horror before she started backing towards me. Just as well: it made it easier to again place my body between her and the monster just as it was preparing to lob sticky globs of its highly toxic saliva our way. I ensured it never got the chance, obliterating the part that most resembled a head with the standard double tap. The creature collapsed with a sickening, wet sound and silence returned.

I turned to check on my current Employer, who had found her feet but was staring at the corpse before us, her features frozen in an expression of shock and horror. “What…. _Is_ that thing?” she said in a tense whisper.

“They call them centaurs,” I replied softly. “Of course… I imagine those who gave them such a name had never seen the Ancients’ depictions of such beasts…”

At this, she actually let out a light chuckle. “Yeeah, no kidding! … I suppose we shouldn’t blame them, though. I mean, even if there are still horses out there somewhere, they probably look like fucked up monstrosities too…” That was actually an interesting point, I mused as she continued with another question, “seriously, though, what in the Hell _is_ that…thing…?”

I shrugged. “Some variation of super mutant, I believe. Perhaps one who got too heavily irradiated?”

She shuddered. “Definitely one of the most awful things I’ve seen, and I’ve seen some pretty awful shit… All those…hands and …ugh…feet…” She stood and slowly crept towards the corpse, no longer horrified so much as curious. Suddenly, though, she paused and turned towards a door on her left from which I too could now make out a faint noise that I couldn’t quite place. Nothing good, I reckoned. My Employer, though, pulled a small bit of metal off her jacket collar and a thin screw driver from one of her bandolier pockets, then began working at the door. It took her only a minute to render the lock useless, permitting us entry and a Mr. Handy robot trapped within egress. I tensed upon first seeing the bot, but it fortunately proved to be non-hostile…only extremely disgusted by the results of two centuries of nuclear fallout and disrepair. It careened down the hall, griping all the way, allowing my Employer to raid what turned out to be a closet filled with a decent stash of medical supplies. She had just emptied the last of a med-kit into her satchel when we heard the sound of battle from where the robot had gone.

Wordlessly, we readied our weapons and turned the corner ourselves, finding the bot locked in combat with a particularly large mutant wielding a jet-powered sledge hammer. Though the bot had managed to saw a few decent gouges into the creature’s thick forearms, it was no match for the enraged monstrosity, who smashed it to bits with a final swing of its weapon. He never got the chance to swing at us, though, as a double tap with Styx sent him back to Tartarus. 

We didn’t have time to breath as no sooner had he fallen, then there was a stomping of heavy boots coming from the hall forming a right angle with ours. Glancing into the room on our left and finding it clear, I quickly swung behind the jamb so most of my body was covered and gestured for my Employer to do the same on the opposite side of the hall. Moments later, a small gang of mutants rounded the corner ahead, though they did not appear to see us. I assessed the state of the structure, finding it to be as tattered and dilapidated as one would expect, but still in better shape than most. Thus calculating the risk worth it, I pulled a grenade from my satchel, bit the pin, then hurled it down the hall so it landed in the center of the posse. Idiotic wastes of flesh that they were, the mutants immediately focused on the grenade, staring at it in confusion until it went off, blowing off the legs of and killing one, severely maiming the others. A sharp crack from my right followed – my Employer had pulled out her rifle again – and another fell, leaving just the third to realize and charge our position. I put a swift stop to that. 

I began to continue down the hall towards the corpses, only to pause and spin around as my Employer gasped again. I fully anticipated there being some new horror that had snuck up behind us, but saw only her, concern in her hazel-gold eyes. “You’re bleeding!” she exclaimed in the same tone she had used upon seeing the centaur, much to my bewilderment. Before I could respond, she was behind me again, her hands exerting gentle pressure on my back. “Damnit, the explosion, wasn’t it. … Geezus, Charon, I’m so sorry. Let’s see if we can’t get you fixed up here... Now where is my medkit…”

I turned to face the human, who was once more digging around in that heavy satchel and seemingly quite upset. I observed her a moment before stating what I thought was obvious. “It’s just a flesh wound. It does not require medical attention.”

She paused and looked up at me, apparently scandalized. “Charon, you are bleeding!” she said again, emphasizing her last word as if it were important.

I stared at her in bewilderment as she returned to her satchel, finally pulling out a worn mentats tin. Inside it, though, were not chems but a set of cruel looking tools. The sight caused my body to freeze as memories of the _last_ time an Employer had played doctor rushed back…

“Here we are. Look, why don’t you have a seat on that bench and take off your jacket so I can at least get that gash in your shoulder stitched up real quick…”

“It’s really not necessary…”

“Looks like you got a few other hits too…”

“Miss, I…”

“I promise, it won’t take but a minute…”

“No!”

The words came out far more forcefully than they should have. Indeed, I should not have tried to dissuade her at all. Mine was not to question! Mine was to obey! And yet, not an hour into my new Employment and here I was arguing with the one who held my contract. My head throbbed and I rubbed at it, angry with myself. “I apologize, Miss… If… you feel it necessary to operate…”

But she just shook her head, eyes wide …though not with any obvious outrage… or even annoyance. “Hey, no worries! You don’t want me messing with your wounds, that’s totally fine! I get it! ….this probably isn’t exactly a great place for impromptu surgery anyway…’least not ‘til we’ve cleared the whole floor!” She smiled at me yet again, her expression almost contrite. “Sorry. I guess I saw all the blood and just sorta…freaked out a bit. I’m a bit…well… on edge.” She began to pack up the tin of instruments again, chattering away as she did so. “If you don’t think it’s a big deal, well, you know your own body and limits! Just so you do know, though, I _am_ medically trained. …I mean, I’m no Doc Barrows but…well, my father is the… sorry, _was_ the doctor in the vault where I grew up, and he wanted me to follow in his footsteps. ….I confess, my heart was never in it, but… I did learn.” 

“I see,” I replied simply, chewing over her words in my mind. “I…apologize if I caused offense…”

“None taken!” she interjected cheerfully, pulling three more stimpacks out of her bag, all of which she handed to me. “I think I gave you some but…well, can never have enough stims, right?” She continued to smile as I gingerly took the supplies from her. “Just, be careful. Nothing worse than having to dig a piece of shrapnel out _after_ stimming a wound closed…” Her mouth twitched in an expression of disgust at the thought – the memory? – before she flashed one more apologetic smile. “Anyway, you change your mind about having me take a look, just let me know. I’m happy to help however I can. ….and sorry again for … for you getting hurt in the first place…”

I stared at her.

Eventually she looked back at me curiously. “What?”

“…You… wish me to use these for myself…”

“Uhm yeah…? You know how to use them, right? Ok, good… so, yeah, I mean, I’ll leave it to your discretion but…” Confusion gave way to disgust and anger as a realization struck her. “Christ, don’t tell me that Ahzrukhal expected you to just walk shit like that off! ……He did, didn’t he.”

I considered her contradictory phrasing, ultimately deciding it was still likely the truth she sought. “You are correct in your assumption, Miss. He did not approve of wasting costly supplies except in the most dire of circumstances. However, if you desire that I make use of these supplies so I might more easily stay in optimal fighting condition, then I shall endeavor to comply with your wishes.”

To my confusion, she shook her head as if to say ‘no’, but then reached up a hand to put it on my shoulder, her expression serious. “Charon, taking care of yourself is _never_ a waste. I mean it! If you need something – stims, meds, caps, food – just ask me. I’m more than happy to share! …Hell, probably does me a favor by lightening my pack!” 

I fought the urge to step back, trying to ignore the sensation of my skin crawling under her touch, as I choked out a reply, “…If you need me to carry something for you...”

She laughed at this, though it sounded pained. “Sorry, poor excuse at a joke.” After a friendly pat, she finally removed her hand from my person, but then stared intensely and directly into my eyes instead, something I found even more disquieting if I was being honest. I bore it with practiced stoicism, returning the intensity of her serious expression as she spoke. “Look, I’m not Ahzrukhal. I really don’t give a rat’s ass about caps, and I definitely do _not_ take pleasure in the suffering and torment of others, least of all on those I work with. You get me?”

“Yes I…I understand, Miss,” I replied. And indeed, I did understand– ‘I am a kind master, I want you to like me’, she wished to say. Perhaps she even meant it at this moment, this liminal time before the gravity of what she had purchased truly set in and she took it to heart that she did not have to wear her mask of civility to ensure my loyalty. 

She was not Ahzrukhal, she said, but Ahzrukhal too had been very different at the start… a vile basilisk that ruined all around him, but which initially wore the guise of a decent man.

Still, I supposed it would not hurt to take advantage of her temporary kindness, especially if it made her happy. As she finally stepped away and began to fiddle with the lock on a nearby medical supply cabinet, I plunged the needle of one of the stims into the space between my neck and shoulder, only able to hope that the monster beneath _her_ currently friendly façade was more griffon than gorgon.

***

“Ok… you can do this, ‘Rin… Just a few quick steps and it’s done…”

From the Statesman side of the antenna-turned-skybridge, I stood staring back at my Employer in vague disbelief. She had passed through (and even done some minor scavenging in) a lobby full of rotting bags of gore, faced down two more centaurs, and handled the explosive dissipation of natural gas spewed up from broken pipe lines without hardly reacting…. But a few steps across a sturdy metal girder had her shaking in her boots?

Feeling my eyes on her, she smiled apologetically. “Sorry. I… I’m still not very comfortable with heights. …especially when there are so many…holes… to contend with…”

 _Vault kid_ , I reminded myself. And really, that considered, she was doing quite well. I thought back to the last time a vault dweller had come through Underworld… poor guy was so mentally broken by the Wastes, he only was able to say “Gary”, and none of us were sure if it was meant to be his name or just the only thing he could still force through his vocal chords. He poked around Underworld a few days, annoyed Ahzrukhal to where I anticipated the order to “teach the smoothskin a lesson in manners” at any minute, then vanished into the night. _Mutant chow by now no doubt,_ I’d heard Willow quip over her bottle of scotch, and had to concur.

The antenna jostled and creaked as my Employer tried again, but the movement and noise spooked her back to the fractured floor of the hospital behind her. Honestly, it looked far less sturdy than the antenna bridge, but… “If I may suggest, don’t look down,” I called across to her.

“Yeah, but then I’m liable to stick my feet in one of the gaps!” she replied, obviously on the edge of despair. _Yours is to stay patient, always,_ I reminded myself. Still… 

“Do you require that I carry you across?” I called out, not particularly relishing the idea, and hoping that disdain didn’t show through in my forcedly bland tone. She didn’t look like she weighed more than a molerat’s mandible, but I was sure the multiple weapons and supplies added up. 

To my relief, she vehemently shook her head. “No, no. I need to do this. Just… give me a minute.”

I debated reminding her that she was the one in a hurry, but decided against it, instead leaning back against the wall of the Statesman, waiting. Watching. Meanwhile, my Employer had taken another series of deep breaths, stared at the antenna a few moments more, and probably prayed to her god whose name she occasionally took in vain. At last, though, she seemed ready to try again. Holding out her arms like a rope dancer, she began to traipse delicate and quick across the makeshift bridge. She had even made it a full halfway across when it wobbled slightly. The movement threw her off balance and she stumbled with a shriek. Immediately, I was off the wall and at the edge of the beam, grabbing her wrist before her own panic sent her tumbling. “You’re fine,” I growled, a bit harsher than I probably should have. “Just breathe. Find your center.”

She didn’t reply save to clasp my wrist back with enough force to leave bruises even on my thick hide while she crouched on the antenna, completely frozen in wide-eyed terror. I sighed and began to gently pull my arm back, forcing her to stumble the last few steps forward to crash against me. It was horribly awkward, her still clutching my wrist and now the straps of my armor too as she panted in ragged, panicked breaths bordering on sobs. “You made it. You’re fine,” I stated blandly, turning us so her back was to the hotel before I firmly pulled my wrist away. _That_ seemed to finally restore her senses and she stepped back, her cheeks an even darker crimson than before.

“God, Charon, I’m so so sorry…”

“It is fine. You’re fine,” I interrupted, needing her to re-focus and calm. “So for now, I suggest we go inside these ruins and face the real dangers.”

“Yeah…yeah. Of course… I’m sorry…” After another few deep breaths into hands cupped around her nose and mouth, she slowly swung herself down a floor to the remnants of a room below, which permitted access to the building. 

Dropping down again, we found ourselves in a warren of rooms, corridors, and nooks, laden not only with more mutants and centaurs, but numerous traps too. Now that her head was back on her shoulders, though, she proved to be remarkably skilled at identifying and disarming the devious devices, as well as at hacking through computer defense systems and, as I had seen in the hospital, at picking or hotwiring locks. Indeed, I found myself wondering if perhaps the experiment of her vault was to raise some caste of master thieves or assassin spies. But mine is not to question, only to follow, so I stayed silent except when blasting away enemies who got too close.

With all the hazards and an apparent compulsion on the part of my Employer to rifle through every safe and suitcase, our progress was slow, but relatively steady. The worst we faced was within what had apparently been some sort of restaurant or bar. The space was of a decent size and relatively well lit by the filth-encrusted skylights overhead, but the sightlines were terrible, especially from the only doors from which we could enter. Moreover, there turned out to be a number of sections in the room that were not visible from the entrance, and which housed even more mutants…one of whom again had a damned missile launcher!

 _I wonder where in Tartarus they keep getting those things?!_ I mentally snarled, dodging back into the hall once more as the doorway itself exploded into a rain of splinters. My Employer looked up at me with concern, her normally olive skin almost alabaster white. “Would grenades help?” she whispered. “Or maybe we could lure them out and drop a few mines?”

Heavy pounding feet coming our way quickly quelled our conversation. I whipped around to face the enemy but was immediately forced to sidestep a blast of bullets from a Chinese-style assault rifle. A series of flashes put an end to that, though, the mutant’s head nearly severed by the multiple laser-cuts on his neck. “Shit, you ok?” I heard my Employer call out as she reloaded.

“Fine. There’s still at least one. Has a missile launcher.” As if to prove my point, a rocket smashed into the door frame, threatening to bring the whole wall down. I gritted my teeth, determined, then darted into the ruined restaurant and quickly scanned around for the mutant. There he was, directly in front of me and almost ready to fire again. I was aiming Styx when I heard my Employer’s voice, vaguely panicked, from behind, “Charon, on your seven!” I spun and shot blindly, almost without thinking, but still managing to stop the other mutant with a hunting rifle from getting the drop on me. When I turned back to the mutant with the missile launcher, though, his meaty finger was already on the trigger, the barrel only a few feet from my head…

A crack from behind me and a grunt ahead, followed by a loud crash and clatter as the final foe tumbled to the ground. My Employer quickly rushed over to me, her rifle still smoking. Keeping my sigh of relief to myself, I focused on her. “Are you alright,” I inquired, visually examining her for any injuries.

“Fine,” she confirmed. “You?”

“Same.” 

We stood there a moment longer, catching our breath, before she started quickly looting the place for anything useful. After she had bagged up a few bottles of excessively aged whisky and some more ammo, we found our way to the roof-top exit. “Here’s hoping the guard rails up here haven’t totally disintegrated,” she muttered as she began to push open the creaking door.

“Same for the roof supports,” I added. 

“Ugh, don’t say that!”

“My apologies…”

“Sorry, just an…well…damn, that’s a lot of… parts…”

And indeed, the entire roof top was speckled with blood and almost completely covered by the corpses of mutants, all gathered around a raised platform in the center. As we paused to get our bearings, the thunder of a machine gun from above rattled the remnants of the skylights. Another green-skinned corpse, riddled with holes, tumbled from the higher platform onto the mound of gore. 

“They must be alive!” my Employer exclaimed, her expression joyous. “We aren’t too late! C’mon!” She began jogging towards the stairs to the upper level. 

“Be careful. They are liable to shoot anything that moves,” I called after her.

I’m not certain if she heard me, or if she had already taken that into consideration, but upon reaching the stairs, she paused and called out to whoever might be above us. “Hey up there, you guys are Reilly’s crew, right?”

For a moment, there was no response. Eventually, though, a powerfully built human lugging a mini-gun normally reserved for the use of those in power armor peered down from over the sandbag barriers at the top of the stairs. Seeing my Employer, this human let out a cry that I think would be best termed a “whoop”, and turned to call out to the others that “their rescue had arrived.”

Minutes later, my Employer (and for some reason myself as well) had been warmly welcomed by the survivors of this misbegotten expedition, who were delighted to know that their boss was alive and recovering. The mood was rendered even more joyous when my Employer handed them the box of ammo she had salvaged from their fallen comrade on our way up the tower. Then, the technician of the group began to lay out a plan to quickly get everyone back down to terra firma by using the elevator, if only he had a fusion core and… wouldn’t you know it, my Employer had one of those squirreled away too. And so, she and the technician began working on enacting the plan while I stood guard over the stairs. We boarded only a few minutes later.

***

The elevator turned out to be abnormally large, which considering there were five of us and a mini-gun, was a very good thing. However, the ride was far from pleasant, the space being cramped, dark, and dank with the centuries of disuse. I was on tenterhooks the entire slow way down, ready to try and protect my Employer as best I could were the cables to snap and the ancient safe-guards to fail. Why we couldn’t have just gone back the way we came was beyond me as, mutants or not, it would have been the far safer and more sensible option. My opinion on this matter was confirmed when, upon reaching the lobby floor, we found ourselves beset by another gang of the greenskinned monstrosities, most of them armed with assault rifles and one with a minigun of its own. 

Despite the obvious danger, the Rangers were out and running almost as soon as the doors opened, shooting wildly as if to try and overcome the threat simply by tossing about a massive amount of lead. Fortunately, my Employer proved to be far more sensible and so we held back where we had _some_ degree of cover. She continued to display an unpolished but decent aptitude for sniping while I made use of some of the grenades she had given me or that we had collected along the way, praying the building didn’t collapse before the mutants did. Fortunately, whatever I might think of them aesthetically, the Old World construction methods proved to be sound. Thus, though not without incident or injury, the five of us managed to best our foes.

“Holy shit, we did it…” I heard my Employer murmur as the gunplay ceased and she turned to regard me. “You okay?” 

I nodded, glad to see that the same seemed true of her. The Rangers, however, did not appear to have been so lucky. While the trio were still alive, they all needed immediate medical attention. The machine gunner appeared to have taken an entire spray of 5.56 in the leg and was cursing a blue streak, unable to stand; the technician sat dazed from a shot to the head that he had only survived because of his helmet; and the third member had a bevy of new holes in his torso and shoulder. How very fortunate for them, then, that my Employer also just happened to be something of a doctor…

“Brick, I need you to take some deep breaths. Do you have any Med-x? Know how to use it? No, no! You don’t want to stim a wound that still has pieces of shrapnel… Hang on, Butcher. Need to get that bleeding to stop... Charon? Please, can you help me here? We need to put some pressure on this wound … Yes, just like this…perfect. Okay. Brick? Yeah, hang on. Let me see here… Donovon? Yeah, Donovon! I’m talking to you! You need to stay awake, buddy. Do you have any stimpacks? Yes? You know how to use them, right? Okay… Brick, hold this down. Hard. Harder. There we go. One second... Okay. Let’s see Donovon, can you take off your helmet quick? Great, thanks… Ooh, that’s gonna leave a bruise… well, let’s see if we can’t get the swelling down a bit… Wish I had some sort of portable X-ray machine… well even if your skull is fractured, this should help. Hold still… Hold still! …Good… there we go… Now, you just sit tight. Drink this. No, it’s just water. Drink that and let the stim do its work. You doin’ okay, Butcher? Good. Thanks Charon. Okay, now Brick, let’s see what we can do for you here…”

Some thirty minutes later, all three were stabilized if not well on their way to being healed. It seemed that if anything, my Employer was being modest when she described herself as an apprentice surgeon with little love for the art… that, or by comparison, her father must have been a physician on par with Asclepius… Satisfied that none of her patients were in danger of bleeding out, she finally allowed herself to relax, flopping down to a seated position on the filthy remnants of a carpet and taking a deep breath. I noted that she was shaking now, though from fatigue, stress, both or neither, I was not sure. 

The Rangers got back on their feet not long after, obviously a bit woozy and weak – especially in Brick’s case – but none appeared to need any sort of special assistance or crutch. As the others picked their way down the stairs towards the door, Butcher came over to us, moving slowly but smiling broadly. “Hey, how you feelin’?” my Employer asked, still sitting on the floor.

“Damn lucky, that’s what,” he replied, leaning back against the wall. “Reilly _definitely_ sent the right people for the job!” He flashed his smile first to her, then to me. I stared back. 

“Haha. Glad I was able to help, though truth be told, I doubt I’d have made it even to Vernon Square if it hadn’t been for Charon’s help.”

I gritted my teeth, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute. Neither of the humans seemed to notice, though. Butcher even held out his hand to me, I assumed to shake. “Charon, is it? I know I’ve seen you around. You work for …shoot, what’s his name…Azzercall or somethin’ right?”

“I did,” I replied, allowing him to grab my hand. My Employer smiled, seemingly genuine as ever. Mine is not to question, I reminded myself…

“Hah. So … under new management or this a temporary gig?”

“…Miss Connolly is now my Employer, if that’s what you mean…”

“Mm, well, you seem to make a good team. I mean, you made it up here with just the _two_ of you. Meanwhile, there were five of us and well…”

Here, my Employer _finally_ spoke up, chipper as ever. “Well, exactly. You guys softened them up so Charon and I could punch right through!” 

“Hah! Playing coy, huh kid? Heh.” The merc grinned at her warmly before shaking his head with a chuckle. “Eh, well, we should probably get moving before more of the greenskin bastards come. We’re heading to the Ranger compound to see if Reilly made it back herself. You should swing by – I’m sure she’ll want to pay you for your help.”

“Mm. How do you get to this compound, anyway?”

“It’s… well, you got a map on that fancy wristwatch of yours? Here, let me mark it for you…”

***

We actually ended up not needing directions as we instead just followed the Rangers back to their bunker, a long and arduous trip through more sewers and tunnels that finally had us popping up in a relatively intact area of the city, though it was filled with mutants and a random lunatic screaming into a loudspeaker about worms in his eyeballs or some such nonsense. Fortunately, the number of foes with whom we actually had to tangle was relatively few, and the Rangers were largely able to carry their own weight even with their healing wounds. Thus, we finally arrived at what appeared to have been a government office and bunker without major incident or worsened injury. 

Inside, all of the humans were overjoyed to find Reilly herself, still too pale and weak for major combat, but nonetheless able to get about of her own accord. She nearly broke down weeping at seeing her men back in more or less one piece, and all but hugged my Employer who seemed on the verge of tears herself for some reason. The two of them eventually fell into conversation about the Rangers, their purpose and plans, and then the reward Reilly had apparently promised my Employer. To my surprise, my Employer actually tried to refuse.

“Oh really, it’s not necessary. I’m just happy to help. I never could have lived with myself if I’d heard that radio cast, saw you comatose in Barrow’s office, then did nothing to help!”

“Heh…losing some of that merc edge, are we? Seriously, though. That’s really noble of you and all but I insist. …y’know, I have some combat armor I think would be a perfect fit for you. Always a bit tight in the chest for me but I bet on you…”

As the two women continued to converse and cajole one another, I found myself almost able to believe that this Employer truly _was_ different, truly _was_ a good and noble person, and that despite the odds, she might somehow manage to stay as such. It was a selfish and unrealistic desire in this Wasteland, of course; the dry dusty roads rippling with radiation and rife with danger turned the sweetest of souls into the most terrifying _teras_ if it didn’t devour them first. But… as Pandora had learned the hard way all those eons ago, even when one is surrounded by and subject to the most horrific visages of pain and suffering, Hope yet remains…


	3. Of Fugitives and Fates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that the dust has settled, Erin and her new companion spend some time getting to know each other... and try to find a mutually acceptable solution to the whole... contract thing...

I groaned as I dropped onto the broken tile of what had once been an undoubtably luxurious office building, now shattered mostly to dust. It was hard and rough, pressing uncomfortably on my already too-prominent tailbone – hey, at least I’d finally lost that stubborn 20 pounds - but it provided a nice view of the courtyard where Reilly’s Rangers had their compound, and of the rose-orange sunset. I had to admit: I hated the grime, the violence, the stench, and the constant paranoia that was part and parcel of life in the wastes, but damned if seeing the sky, the real, honest to God sky, wasn’t almost worth being chased out of my home on pain of death.

….almost.

I glanced over to my new companion, who stood at attention a yard away. He didn’t seem to notice the sky, focusing his energies instead on surveying the surroundings, watching for potential threats. A familiar knot began to form in my gut as I watched him. I mean, seriously, this whole situation was so fucked up! When Nurse Graves had told me about this Charon guy, she had called him a mercenary, the implication being that his was a service I could buy. And with all the caps I’d scavved, earned, or looted, I figured I could at least obtain his service for as long as it would take to fulfill my promise to Reilly. It was my fault she was awake and worrying after all. Least I could do was go dancing with Death again on her behalf. Not like anyone would give a shit if I didn’t come back anyways…

But instead of a merc, I ended up with…. What even was the proper term for someone like him? Fighting slave? Bondsman? Thrall? Housecarl? I sighed to myself, but the sound drew his attention and he fixed his piercing grey-blue eyes on me, expectant. Well, we did need to have that chat I’d promised… 

I patted at the ground next to me and smiled. “Hey, why don’t you have a seat?”

…He continued to simply stare, face as impassive as ever. 

“You have got to be beat…” I cajoled. “I mean, bad enough I ask you to run through a friggin’ gauntlet there, but that was _after_ you’d been workin’ all day!” 

…There was no change in his posture or expression. 

“I mean, I’m utterly exhausted, even though you did all the hard work!” 

….Still, silence. 

Feeling increasingly self-conscious, I gave up my efforts with a light shrug (and a reddened face). “Well, look, I just wanted to say thank you. I definitely wouldn’t have survived that run if you weren’t there, and pretty sure the Rangers wouldn’t have either. Graves wasn’t kidding when she said you’d be our best hope!” Finally, that got _something_ of a response. …Just a slight bow of his head but still… 

I rubbed my stiff neck, debating how best to proceed. I was almost too exhausted to try and get this straightened out right now, but I also knew I wouldn’t sleep well with guilt eating away at my guts. “So, anyway, we should probably hash out this contract business, now that lives aren’t on the line…” 

“I see. Do you wish for me to explain the terms and conditions?” he responded quickly, almost seeming eager.

I nodded, less enthusiastic, while pulling the paper out of my jacket and again holding it out to him, “That’d be great. My Greek? Yeah, it’s pretty much nonexistent outside of calculus and geometry calculations.” 

He acknowledged my request with a mildly curious expression and another deep nod, but ignored the contract itself, instead half closing his eyes and reciting from memory. “Directly translated to American English, it would read as follows: This agreement by and between the holder of this contract, hereinafter the Employer, and he to whom this contract pertains, hereinafter the Employee, does take effect on the instant of transfer of this contract to the Employer, so long as it is accomplished by honorable means. Now, therefore, in consideration of the mutual promises and agreements contained herein, the Employer does retain the services of the Employee under the terms and….” He paused, glancing at me. Apparently, I must have looked about as overwhelmed and confused as I felt because he asked, “Perhaps you would prefer a summarized version of the contents?”

“You know, at least for right now, that would be great. My head is swimming as it is…”

He grunted in acknowledgement before launching into a somewhat clearer explanation. “Essentially, as long as this contract has passed to you… legally, shall we say, you are entitled to my services until you legally transfer the contract to another. …By legally, I mean that the transfer is done with full knowledge and permission of both parties.”

“Ahh, so, taking it by force or theft means nothing?”

“That is correct.” Well, I had to admit that was something of a relief. All day, I’d been thinking up nightmare scenarios where some raider asshole managed to steal the all-important scrap of paper, then forced Charon to kill me even if he _didn’t_ actually want to.

“The contract provides a limited scope of Service,” the ghoul continued, “namely those actions related to the protection of your person and wellbeing. This is further limited to the realm of combat services; that is, tasks and responsibilities that may involve combat situations. Examples might include guarding your valuables, protecting your person, or defending your livelihood.”

I nodded thoughtfully at this. “Not that I would, but if I were to ask you to do something for me outside of that scope… like, I dunno, to cook me a fancy dinner or sing me a lullaby…” 

I thought I saw his brow-line twitch at this but he replied as calmly as ever, “in such an instance, I could tell you ‘no’, and you would not be entitled to retribution for my refusal.”

Momentarily putting the …’retribution’ thing aside, I nodded to show I understood. “Gotcha. …but… anything else that is related to combat and the, uh, scope of the contract…you have to do it? Even if you really don’t want to? Or it is utterly horrid and reprehensible to all sane and decent folk?” He nodded solemnly and I felt guilt eating at my gut again. “Well, look, if you’re partnering with me, then no – you don’t. If I ask you to do something that you don’t agree with or don’t want to do or whatever, even if it _is_ within the scope, just tell me and we’ll find another way.” He stared at me as usual, though it struck me that his eyes seemed a little wider. “So yeah. Uh… anything else I should know about working with you?”

“Mn. It should ease your mind that violence of _any_ sort by the Employee against the Employer or the Employer’s valuables and livelihood is strictly forbidden. Any instance of such should be met with punishment as determined by the Employer. It is a key duty of the Employee to acknowledge and be mindful of these instances, and to remind the Employer of their right to retribution until punishment has been effected.”

He studied my face as if to confirm that I had heard him, while I sat there in stunned silence, trying to figure out how to respond… well, other than by screaming out something involving the phrase _what the hell_ and a whole string of other curses besides…? I finally just sighed and rubbed my nose. “Yeeeeah, so I don’t really plan to…do…the whole punishment…thing…”

To my surprise, he folded his arms with a frustrated huff. “Rectification of error is an important tool in ensuring that I continue to operate to the best of my ability, Miss, and is thus expected.” He paused, eyeing me carefully, then added, “I appreciate your…kind sentiment, but… as it is said, a vine untamed and left to grow wild will never realize its true potential.”

“Mrrrm…” I grumbled, chewing on my bottom lip. “I guess that’s true enough but… maybe it’s a matter of semantics, but I hear ‘punishment’ or ‘retribution’ and think like, beatings or…making you go to bed without supper or …something equally ridiculous…” 

“If that is the punishment you deem appropriate, then so shall it be,” he stated flatly. “Corporal and deprivation treatments _have_ been the methods of rectification most commonly used by past Employers…” Seeing that my jaw had dropped open in horror, he shifted uncomfortably then quietly added, “but you might find verbal castigation sufficient in most situations… and certainly less detrimental to my combat readiness.”

“….yeah…. okay. …I’ll… let you know if I…have a complaint…” I finally stuttered out, still feeling nauseated by the very idea of playing disciplinarian to a man who, in any other context, would be my superior, and could definitely turn me into a fine pink mist in an instant were he so inclined…

He eyed me a moment, probably puzzling over my dyspeptic expression, before continuing. “Please be aware that violence by the Employer against the Employee, _outside_ of instances of punishment, renders the contract null and void. This in turn means that the Employee is no longer obligated to refrain from violence against the former Employer…”

“Well thank God for that,” I interjected, causing him to stop and stare at me as if I had grown an extra head. “I mean, at least this piece of paper puts _some_ limits on the holder so they can’t just torture you for the fun of it.” 

“Ah… yes…” After giving me another puzzled look, he quickly finished, “exceptions will be made for common sense scenarios – say, for instance, minor indiscretions during periods of inebriation, or accidental friendly fire.” 

Okay, I could support that clause too. Yeah, I wasn’t a _terrible_ shot, but I was also no marksman, and still positively dreadful at the whole don’t-just-fire-in-a-blind-panic thing when the enemies got too close… 

“You will be happy to know,” Charon continued, derailing my train of thought, “that although it is required you furnish the necessary supplies for me to complete my tasks – namely, ammunition and weaponry – my conditioning and design are such that I require minimal sustenance and no period of unconscious sleep.”

…Annnnd I was back to staring at him in disbelief… 

“While a two hour rest period and minimum of 1200 calories with two cups of water per day is recommended, I am able to function at a near optimal level on half that amount.”

“…Ok, you have got to be kidding. You don’t sleep?!” He shook his head. “And 1200…Hell, that’s barely enough to feed _me,_ and I’m _half_ your size,” I replied, horrified.

“Yes, but you were not designed to be a Soldier of Fate as I was.” Something in the tone of his voice, though raspy and controlled as always, seemed to convey a sense of pride at this fact. 

“…um…Ok then… ….So what exactly _is_ a Soldier of Fate…?”

He did not immediately reply, apparently considering his words carefully. “Perhaps you know the term, ‘Soldier of Fortune’?” he finally inquired. At my nod, he continued, “Then you know that a Soldier of Fortune changes his loyalty at his own whim and is prone to acts of hubris and betrayal. A Soldier of Fate, on the other hand, is one who truly _does_ serve, obey, and protect.”

“Oh, okay…. And I’m sorry, did you say ‘designed’ to be a Soldier…”

Another moment of hesitation before he replied, “it is the intended career for those of my makeup and… disposition, though certainly not _every_ hoplite can rise to meet their destiny.” 

“Hoplite… oh! So Soldier of Fate is like an army rank?”

“…Mm…You could say that.”

I stared at him a moment, expecting he’d say more, but he simply stared back impassively. “Okay… so um, what…army was this?”

This time, the pause was even longer. “It was… the army of the Gods… you might say?”

“…Ok, and who are these ‘gods’?”

For just a moment, I thought I saw the flickers of annoyance in his eyes as he shifted his position to cross his arms the other direction. After another pause, though, he explained simply, “the Gods are the Primordial… the Great Souls of which all things on this plane are a pale reflection…”

“And these _gods_ have an army of mortals…?”

I flinched as the words left my mouth, concerned that I had just offended him with what I realized sounded like a snarky barb. If he was, though, he didn’t make it obvious, instead just eying me appraisingly. “You recognized the archaic concept of the centaur and the language of the Contract… perhaps, then, you have heard of the Olympians…?”

A bit startled but increasingly curious, I nodded. “Yeah, actually…One of my favorite books as a kid was a collection of Greek myths…”

“I see…” For a split second, I could have sworn I saw something approximating a smile flit across his face. “If this is so, then I would think you likely know the basic concepts. But please understand, these Powers are not mere myth.” He paused again to structure his thoughts. “When the _Other_ Powers proved unworthy masters of the Earth, the Pantheon decided to forsake their Elysium in the Aether and returned to rebuild, starting with the creation of… I suppose you might refer to it as New Olympus, their base of operations.”

“New Olympus, huh? And uh, where is that, exactly…?”

“North of here, just beyond the Sunken City.” Perhaps seeing no spark of recognition in my face, he elaborated, “New York, I believe it was once called.”

“New York…?” I had read all about the place and seen it in myriad movies down in the Vault - a wonderland of towering structures covered in glittering glass illuminated by so many lights, that one could scarcely tell the difference between night and day. “And now it’s the Sunken City?”

“Mn. My understanding is that it was an important city of the Old World, so the enemy went to great pains to obliterate it. Its central-most district is now a glowing lake that not even a ghoul like myself can enter without risking madness or complete disintegration.”

“…Wow……. That’s… hard to imagine…” He grunted a non-response. “All those tall buildings… isn’t there…well…anything?”

“…A lot of glowing water?” he replied dryly. 

We stared at each other a moment, me hoping he’d elaborate, and him probably wishing I’d shut up and stop asking stupid questions. But… I just had so many! “…..like… so if it’s all sunken… what is New Olympus? Like… some kind of big submarine? Or is it something that _did_ survive and not sink…”

A slight twitch of his brow muscles and the dry tone of his response told me that this was _definitely_ a stupid question. “…it was the home of the Gods Reborn…”

That didn’t answer my question but… “Okay, fine, but why did they set up a base in the ruins of New York?”

“Mine is not to understand the minds of the Gods,” he replied mildly, the statement rote. But then, after giving me another appraising look, he apparently decided to just go ahead and give me the full explanation before I pestered him to death with stupid questions. “Prior to the Great War, the Gods came to those whom they found most worthy and instructed them to take shelter deep within the heart of a great labyrinth forgotten to all _but_ the Gods. It just happened that it was located in New York. After the city was gone, the mortals faced many trials within the labyrinth until only twelve remained. At that point, the ash ceased to fall and the water stopped boiling, so these twelve emerged and received the glory of the twelve Great Gods, becoming their mortal Vessels on the scoured world.”

“Mortal…Vessels?”

“Mm. The mortals, proven worthy, became host to an aspect of the Gods’ powers.”

“…Why bother with all of that?” He tilted his head to the side with a slight frown, apparently not understanding my question. “I mean, why possess a bunch of humans instead of just… doing whatever they did to get their way in the old…um… back in the old days?”

“Ah. Well, perhaps you know the tale of Semele, killed by the sight of Zeus in his true form?”

“…Oh…”

“Exactly. But working through a mortal Vessel, they could literally guide their new creations in person. No need for oracles and priests acting as middlemen.”

“Huh. Okay well, that makes… sense I guess. …So where do you fit in?”

“I am one of their New Creations,” he said, again with a tinge of pride in his rasp.

“…Creation…? Created how?”

“Mmn… They forged the elements themselves into sentient life.”

“….Like…how… in a lab? Genetically engineered test tube babies?!” 

Apparently not seeing the ethical nightmare in the situation that was making me want to scream, Charon continued as nonplussed as ever. “I suppose it is a similar concept, though far more complex than simply… playing around with genetic materials. The way _we_ were forged, the threads of our destiny are woven into our very marrow. All have a purpose, all know their purpose. And those of us who best walked our path and lived virtuously were sometimes deemed worthy to become minor Vessels and thus earn a Name.” 

“I see… so you are the Vessel housing the spirit of Charon, the Ferryman?” 

He started to respond then stopped, apparently reconsidering, before he slowly shook his head in the negative. “At one time, yes…” he started, but said nothing further, instead just looking back at me with his practiced blank expression.

As we stared at each other in silence yet again, I forced myself not to say something sarcastic or cutting about this …society of which he had been a part, managing a weak smile instead. After all, while it sounded like a lot of cult nonsense and misread fairytales to me, Charon clearly still held these ‘gods’ of his in high esteem. I had no doubts that they were about as close to being ‘gods’ as I was, of course; it seemed way more likely that they were just a bunch of mad scientist-dictators with illusions of grandeur and an underground genetics lab. But… if I were to try and explain the stories and slogans _I’d_ been raised on, that others _still_ considered the “Truth”…? A drunkard of antiquity built a boat that could hold all life on the planet? That everything the Overseer does is for the benefit of the Vault? That all human misery was due to the actions of one curious woman and a talking snake? ……yeah, I supposed it would sound pretty insane and culty to a non-believer too. So rather than give him shit about his religion, I re-focused my questions on the man himself.

“So, what happened that you wound up here?”

The pause before he answered was extremely long this time, and while his expression did not change, I could see the emotions seething in his eyes before he fixed them on the ground. I was about to shrug it off, tell him it didn’t matter, when he again began to speak, in a quieter tone than before. “It was… many significant disasters… cascading into catastrophe…” he stated slowly. “A hurricane, then a quake, followed by a massive wave… I was on the mainland, having been instructed to give passage to and protect a party tasked with revitalization of a dying forest, when it began. We were stranded by the catastrophes…then obliterated by the onset of the Great Winter.”

“The Great Winter?” I cocked my head curiously.

“You are familiar with the concept of winter, yes? Snow, ice, wind…?” I nodded, thinking back to the songs we sang at Christmas time about magical snow-men and jingling sleigh bells. “…It was that, but at temperatures far lower than had ever been seen and levels of precipitation that buried even the sea in heavy, glowing flakes of ice. …Even sturdier strains of flora and fauna that had survived or evolved from the Great War perished in the harsh conditions.” He looked away again, grinding his jaw a moment before continuing. “The party found underground shelter that enabled us to combat the temperature but… the others were not designed as I. They needed steady and plentiful food, clean water... and their bodies could not process the excess radiation… …I …will spare you…further details…” He finally looked back up at me, face still a controlled mask of stoic indifference, but with eyes seemed haunted. “After the last of them passed, I would have died a slow death from a dearth of purpose except that I found an Employer willing to give me meaning. I have served many other Employers since then. And now, I serve you.”

“I see…” I murmured. “…So…are you the last …New Olympian…?”

There was another spell of silence and a flurry of emotion in his eyes before he nodded solemnly.

“I see… damn… …that sounds… Honestly, I’m not sure there are sufficient words but… I am so sorry for your loss...”

This sentiment seemed to surprise him, his eyes focusing directly on mine for a moment before his inscrutable gaze softened. “…Thank you,” he murmured quietly. 

“Of course…”

His expression, subtle though it was, again took on an appraising aspect before he spoke again. “Might I ask a question of you, Miss?”

As much as I wanted to keep prying into his past, I figured I’d tormented him enough for one night…and he definitely had a right now to pry a bit into mine! So, leaning forward with a friendly smile, I nodded emphatically. “Well yeah, of course! What do you want to know?”

He paused, a bit taken back by my reaction, I think, and also considering his words carefully. “I am… curious as to what, precisely, you consider your livelihood, so I might better understand how to protect it.”

“Huh… okay, well that’s… a very good question,” I chuckled nervously. “I guess…scavver? …wanderer? Heh. But I guess it’d be most accurate to say, ‘homeless loser who is always causing all sorts of trouble by trying to be helpful’. …though that’s a bit of a mouthful, huh?”

He did not reply to my poor attempt at humor, but simply added, “And you are a physician as well.” 

It was more a comment than a question in tone, which was weird, but I just shrugged. “Eh, well, like I mentioned, my Dad’s the doctor. I’m just his kid… and I was always better at fixing machines and code than I was people.” 

“Mm,” Charon responded eloquently, still piercing me with his eyes.

I bit my lip, fighting the urge to squirm under his gaze while waiting to see if he had any further comments or questions, but he stood stoic and silent, like a marble statue that had been hit particularly hard by the acid rain. “So…anything else you wanted to ask me?” I finally prompted.

He shifted his weight, and I noted a subtle drumming of his fingers along his arm as he thought. “I am uncertain how to phrase this…” he finally muttered before inhaling audibly. “You are from a Vault?”

I could tell that wasn’t really what he wanted to ask, but I could guess what he was angling for. “Heh. Yeah. Vault 101, over by Megaton. Grew up there. Thought I was born there too. …But…well, turns out my whole life was apparently a lie…” I sighed. “See… Well, we had a saying back in 101: ‘you’re born in the vault, you die in the vault’. Except, that wasn’t true for me and my Dad. I still have no idea where he’s actually from, Hell, who he really is, other than someone who lied to me every day of my existence, while simultaneously berating me for even the smallest fib. And I found all this out the night of my 18th birthday, when without a word of warning or so much as a ‘see ya later’, he somehow escaped from the vault and went …well, somewhere. Left pure chaos behind him.”

I paused to take a deep breath, hoping I could get to the info I knew he _actually_ wanted without breaking down completely again. “When the vault doors opened, the rad roaches got in and started killing folks, and the Overseer…He had always been a control freak, you see, but when Dad left, he went…crazy. Had his goon squad try to torture some info or something out of my Dad’s protégé, Jonas…. Smashed his head all over the Overseer’s office.” I swallowed hard, trying not to remember that image. “Amata, the Overseer’s daughter and my friend, she’s the one who told me, warned me. Gave me her Dad’s gun and directions on how to use a secret tunnel from the Overseer’s office to get out of the vault before her Dad killed me too… I managed but… I had to kill two of the guards… They came at me with their batons and…” I shook my head, “I tried to surrender even, but they just kept going. Broke my arm and rib they beat me so hard! I thought… no. I knew they’d kill me. So… I shot them. Dead.” I looked up at him. “That’s why I’m out here on my own, and why I don’t go back. Out here, shooting someone who’s doing you harm is just …normal. ‘Frontier justice’ as the good Doctor put it. But in the vault? They’d execute me as a murderer.” 

The ghoul, who had patiently listened this whole time with no obvious change of expression, nodded. “I see,” he said quietly. “May I inquire, how long ago this was?”

“Mmm…” I checked my pipboy for the date. “Feels like years, but I guess it’s only been a little over a month.”

“Hm.” The remnants of his brow furrowed slightly. “They taught you battle skills in this vault?”

I had to laugh at that. “Hah. Hardly! Only the Overseer’s little goon squad had weapons, and most of them only carried batons. Really, the sole reason I know how to do anything approximating fighting is because my Dad gave me a BB gun when I turned 10, and worked with Jonas to set up that shooting range I mentioned. I used to go down there and take out my frustrations on the targets and the odd radroach.”

“Ah,” he replied, still somewhat confused. “You are…remarkably skilled for that to have been your only experience…”

A faint heat rose to my cheeks at his almost-compliment. “Kind of you to say, Charon. And perceptive. So like, a week or two after I got chased out of the Vault, I got caught up with some group calling themselves the Outcasts. They had found some old pre-war VR combat simulator and had got it up and running. However, they didn’t have a pip-boy which could interface with the device, and without the ability to interface and go through the entire simulation, they couldn’t get this door to a treasure room unlocked… hah, yeah, I know, right? Who the hell locks a door where the only key is passing all levels of a VR video game?! Pre-war man…weird shit.” I grinned as the ghoul nodded in agreement with my assessment. “Well, the catch was that you had to go through the whole thing with all the safety measures turned off, because, sure. Why the Hell not. But hey, Mom’s dead, Dad’s gone off to God knows where, and literally no one will give a shit if I live or die so…” I shrugged. “I gave it a go. Wasn’t easy, I give it that, but…well… it made a point of offering you different weapon sets, and gave me a chance to try them out in …not a forgiving environment per say, but at least one where if I died, I wasn’t gonna be strung up as a festive new decoration by the friendly neighborhood raiders. So yeah. I’m still pretty shit at hand-to-hand, but I learned a thing or two about grenades, mines, and a few types of guns. Oh, and of course…” I tapped the hilt of my sword, “got a pretty awesome weapon out of the deal. The Outcasts said I could take whatever I wanted from the room when it opened up, see. I really wanted one of the Chinese-style stealth suits but…well, let’s just say it was _not_ my size. Couldn’t even get it on! So, I took the Chinese General’s electro-sword, some grenades, some ammo… And then I ran like hell because the Outcasts got into an altercation among themselves over whether or not they were going to allow me to take anything like they’d promised, or just off me then and there…and started shooting at each other like a bunch of idiots. I mean, confined space next to a generator?!” 

Charon emitted a snort that appeared to be his version of a chuckle, and shook his head slightly. 

I grinned at this before rambling on. “At least their frenemies in the Brotherhood helped me out in a few spots… taking most the damage from the raiders when I was snooping around that old library, making nice human shields when I was trying to get to GNR… Too bad sopping up damage is about all they’re good for, though!” I sighed moodily. “Lazy bums. Even though they have a base like five feet away, even though _they found_ the damn thing, having them retrieve and install it so that annoying DJ can actually be heard beyond the walls of his studio is just too much to ask…”

“…I am sorry, Miss,” Charon cut in as I trailed off. “I am afraid I…do not follow….”

“….Oh. Yeah.. Shit. You weren’t there were you!” I grinned apologetically and then in earnest. “Well then, I guess it’s story time!” I rubbed my hands together and leaned towards my audience of one as I launched into the tale. “So, a week ago, I was trying to listen to the GNR radio station because, well, it’s lonely out in the Wastes. And yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Sure, I could listen to the crystal clear dulcet tones of self-proclaimed President Eden prattle on about nonsensical bullshit between the same five patriotic ditties I was sick of _before_ I got chased out of the Vault, but… I was just craving something new, y’know? So, I’m poking at the bands when, through the static, I thought I heard the DJ say something about a guy named James from Vault 101 who had come to visit him. Well, there’s only one guy from 101 named James and that’s my old man.” I clapped my hands together for emphasis and grinned. 

Charon blinked. 

“…Yeah, so, I went to visit the DJ to get the details on his whereabouts. But will he help a girl out? Show a little kindness to a neophyte Waster? Reunite a broken family in the Feel-Good-Story of the year? Well, noooo of course not! This is the Wasteland, where everything is always tit for tat and good deeds are a myth.” I scowled around a smirk and crossed my arms with an exaggerated, ‘harumph’.

Charon stared back patiently, nodding slightly to indicate he was listening. 

….Clearly, the story-telling dynamics that won me enthusiastic audiences elsewhere were lost on him, and I increasingly felt like a foolish child under his piercing gaze. So, ignoring the red creeping into my face again, I relaxed into a normal posture before continuing in a less theatrical tone. “So yeah. He wants me to help him with his ’good fight’, whatever that’s supposed to mean, by marching into the old Museum of Technology at the mall and getting some radio dish off an ancient space craft, then jerry-rigging it up on the Washington monument in order to boost the signal of his station. I do _allll_ that for him, and he promised to tell me where my Dad went so I can find him and kick him in the shins. …my Dad, not the DJ. …Though I might kick the DJ too.”

Another flash of a smirk crossed Charon’s face before the usual dour expression returned. Then, frowning slightly, he queried, “but you _do_ wish to handle this operation as the DJ requested?”

I squinted back, confused. “Er, yeah… Why, you have another idea? Like you know some pre-war cache of radio dishes?”

“No, I’m afraid not…” He shifted again, scrutinizing every inch of my face before he continued. “I apologize for questioning what may seem obvious, but… I have often been commanded to … _extract_ information on behalf of my Employers. I wanted to be certain that such an operation was _not_ your intent in relaying this information…”

“Oh. …Oh!” I violently shook my head. “Look, the guy is a stupid jerk, but no need to…um…extract anything from him… besides, the BoS would turn you into a fine paste if you tried.”

Again, the ghost of a smirk crossed his features. “This is true. ….Then, infiltrating the museum will be your next mission?”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” I sighed. “I mean, if nothing else, fixing the radio signal so I have some musical company that _isn’t_ Enclave nonsense while I’m out here trying not to die does sound nice. ….Gonna be a helluva job though… place is lousy with super mutants...”

“Mn,” Charon seemed to concur. 

For a minute or two, we were both silent, lost in thought. But as the sun vanished completely behind the ruins, leaving only a glimmer of gold as the stars began to appear, I realized we still had some unfinished business regarding the contract, and both its implicit and explicit meanings. Running through the words I’d been piecing together in my head all day one more time, I took a deep breath, and started on my pitch for what I hoped my companion might consider an updated set of terms and conditions to would make the whole situation way less awkward and…slave-y.

“So, here’s the deal, Charon.” His eyes, which had been scanning the area once again, immediately snapped to focus on me as I spoke. I smiled nervously under his scrutiny, hands fidgeting with the all-important scrap of paper, still in my lap. “I really could use your help on this mission, but I won’t force you to risk your life just because the DJ who has the info I need is being a jerk.” I again held out the contract to him. “As far as I’m concerned, this belongs to you. You should be serving your own goals, protecting your own self, self-interest, and livelihood. But, of course, if in so doing you find yourself interested in working _with_ me as my partner, then I would be thrilled to come to some sort of financial or profit-sharing arrangement with you.” 

I suppose I wasn’t too surprised when the ghoul shook his head, arms still tightly folded across his chest with no sign that he would take the paper from me. “I am sorry, Miss. That would not work. My purpose in existing is to protect and guard others.”

“But plenty of fighters hire themselves out to clients to serve as protectors and guardians…” I argued.

“Yes, but they often must choose between fulfilling the terms of their contract, or pursuing and protecting their own self-interests. The indecision alone often leads to failure in both endeavors,” he replied dryly. “Besides, I am not a mercenary – a mere soldier of Fortune; I am a Soldier of Fate. My very essence is bestowed with purpose. I cannot and will not be so hubristic as to stand against it.” As always, his tone was calm, but with the firm finality of true conviction. 

“Okay… but, why is it _you_ have to follow your destiny as outlined by a piece of paper, and I am free to do whatever the hell I want?”

He considered this a minute, then said simply, “are you?”

…Damn. This was getting too philosophical for my exhausted brain. “Fine. Fair point, I suppose, but I didn’t come with a manual.” I tapped the contract for emphasis. 

“Mm,” he murmured in apparent agreement. “The encryption of one’s Fate into even a tangible form was one of the greatest innovations of New Olympus. One never need wonder about their purpose, or feel lost.”

…Of course he would see it as a good thing. I rubbed at my forehead again, feeling the first twinges of a headache starting from where my frown was overexerting my facial muscles. “Okay…but you know, even if you are ‘designed’ to live out a certain destiny, I still have a hard time believing all that alone determines who you are and what you want out of life. I mean, so you were…built… to be a loyal and highly skilled guardian… but maybe deep in your heart, what you _really_ want to do is… I dunno… be an artisanal rat-loaf vendor…or, a traveling bard recounting the tales of heroes long ago… …or okay, maybe not. But you know what I mean.” 

A raise of his brow seemed to indicate he did not. 

“…so, okay…. Take me as an example, here. Yeah, I wasn’t ‘designed’ or genetically engineered or whatever, but I was definitely conditioned from a very young age to be a very specific type of person. And heck, while it wasn’t as…thorough as your contract, I _did_ have my entire destiny laid out in a document when I turned sixteen...” Charon tilted his head curiously at this revelation. “Yeah. See, they had us take this thing they called the GOAT, which is an incredibly stupid aptitude test made up of ridiculous questions with even more ridiculous answers. Despite the insanity of the situation, though, it was those answers rather than interest, skill, or even the needs of the vault that dictated our careers. …Wanna know what I was destined to be? …Chaplin. That’s right. The Vault’s religious authority, expected to provide spiritual guidance and ecclesiastical training to all. Didn’t matter that I had lost my faith when I was twelve, didn’t matter that my answer to bullying and injustice was to throw down rather than turn the other cheek… Nope. Regardless of my desires or abilities, my destiny in the vault was to give sermons on Sundays, run Dad’s clinic during the week, and be forced to marry one of those hateful wastes of space they called ‘boys’ so I could pop out their ugly, screaming whelps until it killed me like I killed my mom!” My voice had raised a few decibels by the end of my rant, and I sighed in angry frustration as I tried to calm myself. “Yeah, I don’t need to tell you, it sucks out here in the Wastes. Filthy water, awful food, horrible evil people and big scary mutants trying to eat little smoothskins like me… but even if I could go back to the safety, certainty, and security of the Vault…I wouldn’t. Not for all the caps and fresh water in the world. I’d rather die out here of…molerat rabies or… raider scabies or something...” 

Charon stared at me, not blinking, but the indent in his brow indicating confusion. And…Yeah, I guess I’d lost the point in my little diatribe. Sighing, I tried to summarize. “Look, what I’m saying is that I might have been predispositioned and trained from day one to _be_ an obedient little Vaultie priest and mother to millions, but that’s not who I am inside. We’re _all_ way more than our genetics or training.”

“I see your reasoning,” he replied cautiously, before he lapsed into another long spell of studying me intently. “But… if you will permit me,” he finally continued, “the…rulers of your vault failed to account for how you had truly been …designed. They pretended you were a child of the Vault, when in fact your marrow held the dust of the Wastes. Your destiny, thus, was perhaps always tied to the world outside.”

“…Alright, you might have something there…” I frowned, realizing the guy probably had an answer for any argument I might make to encourage him to be his own man instead of my glorified slave. Still, I had one last point I just had to get out there before I completely gave up. “Look, I guess the big thing is that I just can’t believe the Fates would want their soldiers to blindly serve any asshole with enough caps or chutzpah to obtain your contract. I mean, maybe it really is your destiny to follow around some idiot ex-vaulty with half a brain, but… I can’t fathom a world where one is forced to commit atrocities just because a piece of paper says they have to.”

“Such is the life of any soldier,” Charon suggested. 

“Pretty sure soldiers don’t beat the crap out of debtors and drunks any time some oily piece of shit tells them to…”

“Mm, true. Normally they would simply shoot them.” He froze immediately, apparently startled by his own snark, before closely studying my face again to see if I was angry. I just smiled back wearily.

“Ok, ok. You have another good point. But… Well, I hope you see mine too…” 

He nodded solemnly. “I do. And… I appreciate your… kind offer…” His speech was slow and more deliberate than ever, the fingers of one hand again drumming along his bicep in a nervous tic. “However, what you propose …it would not work. I live to serve. And if I do not serve then…”

I nodded understandingly. “I gotcha. You don’t operate well without direction. That’s fine. But… I just can’t stomach the idea of you taking direction from someone you hate, to do…well…horrible things on their behalf! …and I definitely can’t stomach the idea that I would be one of those horrible people you can’t wait to blow to smithereens. So…… I’ll make you a deal, Charon.” I cleared my throat and tried to calm my nerves while looking him directly in the eyes. “You say you need an Employer to give you purpose, and I could seriously use the backup. So, if you’re down with it, then yeah! We’re good to go. BUT!” I held up a hand for emphasis. “I swear on my mother’s ashes, that if you do _not_ want to work with me, if you don’t like what I do or how I do it, you don’t like how I treat you, or even if you simply want to pursue some other path in life – _tell_ me and I’ll try and make it right.”

Pausing, I searched his eyes for understanding. He returned my gaze, apparently uncomfortable, but nodded. Satisfied, I continued. “If you decide you want to try working for yourself, the contract is all yours. And if you decide there is someone else you’d rather be working for, just say so. I will _give_ them your contract - no charge, no drama - ….and hopefully you won’t feel the need to shoot me after I hand over the paper. …..though if you do…well… I probably had it coming, eh? Heh. ……So…Deal?” 

I held out my hand to the man, who stared at me with an expression I couldn’t quite decipher for what felt like hours, before he tentatively grasped back. “Deal,” he croaked, still eyeing me suspiciously. 

Our ‘deal’ concluded, I let him return to his cross-armed stance, positioning my own hands behind me so I could lean into them, stretching my stiff spine. “So, all that said, what do you want to do right now? Are you okay staying with me for a while, maybe helping me out with that stupid radio receiver disc thing in the museum? Helping me find my jackass old man so I can give him a piece of my mind? Or, you want to do somethin’ else? Like… I dunno. Carol seems really nice. Maybe you could work as her bouncer? Or help Quinn with the trade routes? Serve guard duty rotations with Willow?”

He said nothing, eyes still fixed on mine, trying to discern my real intentions I figured. I stared back, hoping my gaze was as open and as honest as I truly did feel. Sure, I didn’t really _want_ him to go – I would definitely have died today without him, and would probably die in the museum if he didn’t come with – but I knew if I acted like this whole contract business was normal, guilt would eat me alive anyway. 

Finally, he bowed his head and spoke. “I acknowledge your command, Miss, and though it _is_ highly irregular, I see the logic at its roots and shall honor its intent to the best of my ability.” I smiled encouragingly (I hoped). “In the spirit of the command’s intent, I see no reason that I should request a transfer of my services to anyone else at this time, and shall be honored to continue accompanying you for the foreseeable future.”

I let out a sigh of relief, smiling even more broadly. “I admit, I’m really glad to hear you say that, and I _really, REALLY_ appreciate it. I hope I won’t do or say anything that will make you change your mind and want to leave, but… if I do, please tell me? Communication is key and all, you know.”

Charon gave me that look as if I’d grown extra limbs again, but nodded. “I shall endeavor to do so. ….Perhaps…. I might ask you to do the same?”

I grinned and nodded. “Sure thing, partner. Sure thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I'm not sure if there's anything much in canon about the fate of NYC in the Great War, the Great Winter is an actual Fallout event. 
> 
> I confess, I was heavily influenced by the idea of Mantling from the Elder Scrolls series when dreaming up the New Olympus society, as well as by the urban legends surrounding the (officially) abandoned Montauk military base in NY.
> 
> This section has been heavily rewritten from the last posting, hopefully for the better.


	4. Mid-morning at the Museum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delving into the depths of a crumbling, mutant infested museum? Not a problem, especially for one as experienced as Charon. But talking his Employer through her irrational fear of heights to finish the job...?

“Damnit!” my Employer hissed, ducking back down the stairs and nearly colliding with me. “Place is crawling with muties…”

I wanted to respond with something along the lines of, ‘well what do you expect,’ but of course held my tongue, especially after having practically _argued_ with her the night prior. Were she more like some previous Employers, I would have already been facing the day with a broken jaw and multiple lacerations for my impudence. While this Employer _had_ adhered to her stated decision to not punish my transgressions thus far, I did not want to get into the habit of rousing her anger further. I would stick to my Purpose. Mine was not to question, and certainly not to argue with those Fate decreed my superior.

Silently, I stepped around and past her, creeping to the top of the long frozen mechanical stairs and surveyed the situation. The door of the museum was maybe a hundred yards away, but there was a dangerously high chance my Employer would be spotted by the mutants patrolling nearby. Stepping back down to the relative safety of the stairwell, I queried, “have you been able to locate or purchase a stealth boy, by chance?”

“Just one…” she replied sadly. “The Rangers couldn’t spare more than that, and Tulip is still sold out. I suppose I could put in a special order with Quinn but I’m not sure how long we’d have to wait…” She turned suddenly to look at me. “Willow told me that super mutants don’t usually bother ghouls…?” At my nod to her apparent question, she excitedly continued, “So, you might be able to sneak in there without the whole hive holed up in the mall coming after you, right?”

I gritted my teeth as I nodded again, anticipating her request to retrieve her artifact alone. Not that being alone was a concern – the mission would surely be quicker and easier without her scent attracting every mutant in the building – but the nature of the mission… Were I not the last, as I had been so recently reminded, I should have delegated so menial a task. “Fetch,” after all, was a game played by beasts and the lowliest of hoplites… But… I would not argue. It was a necessary action for her to proceed in her quest to find her father, and I was sworn to serve…

“Okay… so… here’s what I’m thinking,” her excited chirp interrupted my dour thoughts. “If the Museum of Tech is anything like the Museum of History, there should be plenty of places we can set up choke holds and traps, and while we might get surrounded, we can probably find some tunnel that at least keeps the skirmish to a few at a time. Better odds than getting jumped on all sides by a bunch of angry mutants who were hiding in the trenches.” She flashed me a toothy grin which I did not reciprocate, too busy puzzling over her repeated use of ‘we’. “Heh, yeah, so… what I’m saying is, and _please_ correct me if I’m wrong, but the greater danger is getting into the museum. So, I pop my stealth-boy here, we get in safe and sound, and can start working through whatever’s inside.”

We stared at each other a minute before her overly broad grin faded into a nervous smile. “Well? What do you think?”

“To confirm…you…do not want me to run this mission alone…”

Her smile faded into a look of bewilderment, then shock, and finally settled into pensive thoughtfulness. “Honestly, that hadn’t even crossed my mind… I can see where that could be a good idea too, but I think you’re going to need more than two hands to get the dish safely off the lander….” She nervously began to pick at her hands again. “I mean, of course, if you think that would be the better way…I certainly understand your thinking! I mean, I’m still not a great shot and…well, you’re the combat expert!” Her too-broad grin returned, though there was a sadness in her eyes which, combined with her odd, self-deprecating comment, nearly compelled me to apologize again. That would be wasting time, though.

Instead, I politely bowed my head, fist to my chest. “You are my Employer, and I shall do as you command,” I reminded her. “If you wish for me to retrieve the dish, then I shall do; if you wish to lead this expedition, then I shall do all in my power to ensure your safety and success.”

As I had observed the previous day, reminding this Employer of her status as such seemed only to vex her further, as she immediately began rubbing at the bridge of her nose. “I know, Charon, but… what do _you_ want to do? What option do you think would work best?”

And there it was again, asking me what I thought; an Employer apparently willing to defer to _my_ status as the ‘combat expert’. …But was that really what she meant to say, really what she wanted? I studied her closely before making my reply. Fidgeting hands clasped demurely at her waist; posture tense but no visible tremors of fear; eyes wide and seeking… seeking what, my agreement? My approval? 

Mentally, I ran through her proposal. It made about as much sense as anything when the mission involved barreling headlong into a super mutant stronghold, I supposed. And so, “your plan involving the stealth boy should be sufficient,” I opined. “I concur with your assessment of potential threats, though I might advise that narrow corridors could trap us as easily as they limit the number of our assailants.”

Her genuine smile returned immediately, hazel-gold eyes practically sparkling with…well, I swear it was happiness. “Alrighty then! Good point on the corridors…we’ll have to be careful about making sure we always have an escape route I guess…” She paused, suddenly serious again. “If something happens and we do get separated, we’ll meet back in Underworld, okay?”

“I would be derelict in my duties were I to leave you in peril…” I pointed out with a slight frown. “But… very well. If it seems most prudent that you retreat in haste, I shall seek you in Underworld.”

She nodded. “I don’t think it’ll come to that, but just in case. …Wonder if I could rig up some sort of electronic communication device…” She began digging in her pack, handing me another handful of stims and a few grenades, then returning to dig some more. “…I know they used to have items like that pre-war, and there were two-way intercoms in the Vault… Could be a really useful tool… not sure how to get it small enough to be portable though…Ah! Here you are.” So saying, she finally withdrew a small brown box from the satchel, which she strapped onto her belt. “Alright. …you ready?” 

At my nod, she flipped the switch, and was promptly covered in holographic projections of her surroundings such that she “vanished”, save for the sound of her footsteps and a faint outline caused by momentary but persistent lag in the stealth-boy’s processing speed. Still, the ruse was sufficient to get us safely out of the metro tunnels, across the no-man’s land of the mall, and to the door of the museum with only a few rude comments about ‘stupid ghouls, not worth eating’ following us. However, no sooner had the door closed behind us and my Employer heaved an unwisely loud sigh of relief…which caught the ear of some of the mutants further inside. She cursed under her breath as the abominations thundered above us on the remnants of a second level, calling out impatiently for us to show ourselves. 

Following her footsteps and the ripple in space near me, I shadowed my Employer as we crept past toppled pillars and exhibits, long stolen or returned to dust. As we eased into the atrium before us, I caught a glimpse of green to the left: a mutant descending with a sturdy plank of wood pierced through with railroad spikes in his hands. I could just make out a second mutant as well, this one above us on the crumbling second level with an assault rifle at the ready and head swiveling as he scanned for movement. Luckily, as was often the case with super mutants, their sense of sight was inferior to ours, and I was easily able to eliminate the one with the board and severely wound the other before they knew we were there. My Employer finished the second mutant off with her rifle before he could even scream, though the concussive force of the blast decisively shattered the illusion of invisibility and echoed in the once grand chamber. 

Silence slowly returned as the reverberations faded. A bit of crumbling masonry clicking against pock-marked marble as it fell away. A steady drip of water from rusted pipes further in. I looked to my Employer for direction, but she was too busy staring in awe around her, a crumbled wreck of some ancient machinery especially seeming to catch her fancy. “Is that… oh my God, Charon, it is! That’s the Wright Flyer!” She looked up at me, excited as a child receiving a new toy. I merely gazed back, forcing my expression to remain neutral as I had been trained. This seemed to disappoint her, though… Perhaps feigning some interest in this… Flyer would be welcome?

“You are familiar with this technology?”

“Well, yeah… I mean…” She paused in her examination of what appeared to have been the machine’s engine to grin at me. “It’s the first aircraft to have made a successful flight!” She paused before adding, “At least, the first one that was well documented and published about…” She moved from examining the ruined craft to some of the other items in the room – old and now empty display cases (including one somehow still holding a stealth-boy which she cheerfully requisitioned), dust-covered cash registers (from which she salvaged a number of bobby pins to add to her collar), and then …the computer terminals. _Mine is to be patient_ , I reminded myself as she spent what felt like hours pouring through the entries remaining, her face expressing a variety of emotions. I stood back the entire time she tinkered and toyed around, absently wondering if this was her normal modus operandi… and if so… how she had not gotten herself killed yet given her complete lack of awareness to her environs.

Finally, she began up the marble stairs to the second floor and only obvious path forward, gingerly stepping over the corpse of the mutant. “There’s some sort of…scavenger hunt in these old terminals. Guy named Prime left what he calls breadcrumbs for some other guy which…I’m not sure I get but I think it has to do with prime numbers…?” I nodded to show I was listening, albeit only half. “Sounds like a pair of thieves maybe? I’m not sure when they hacked into the system here, though I can’t imagine it was recent…given the current occupants of the place and all, y’know…” She began poking around with the terminals on this level as well, apparently looking for more clues of this scavenger hunt. “So, I just need to keep an eye out for more of these ‘breadcrumbs’…” Again, I nodded absently, listening to the masonry crumble and wondering just how structurally sound this place really was. 

She turned into a corridor at the top of the stairs then, and let out a low curse. I instantly raised my weapon, but it turned out she was merely bemoaning the collapse of the wing in on itself. “There was supposed to be a whole exhibit on robots and other cool tech in here,” she pouted as she toed at the rubble filling the halls. “Stuff we could have used. …though I suppose if this place was still standing, the Brotherhood would have scavved up all the really good stuff when they came through here anyway. ….although…” With an almost manic grin, she retrieved even more stealth-boys from their dust covered pedestals. “Well, either the Brotherhood scouts are blind, not particularly thorough, or just don’t see the value in stealth!” 

“Or all of the above,” I replied dryly. 

“Mm, or all of the above,” she agreed congenially as she stashed the boxes in her satchel. “Well, at least we don’t have to worry about getting out of here now!” I just nodded politely.

We continued across the atrium, then, stopping in front of a fake cave opening and large gear-like door. And …we just stood there. ….and stood there. I finally glanced to my Employer, wondering at the delay, only to see trepidation in her posture and an expression of horror similar to when she had faced the antenna bridge at the hospital. But this was the exact opposite of the heights she apparently feared… it was just a mockup of… Ah. “A vault?”

“Yeah. The ‘Vault of Tomorrow’ exhibit.’ Was hoping I wouldn’t have to see this one,” she replied in a near whisper through a tight throat. “I don’t see a path through elsewhere, though. Well, unless we wanted to risk tunneling through or scaling the rubble mountains and having the whole damn place fall on our heads.” Her tone was sharp, denoting the discomfort she was experiencing, but I did not feel it necessitated a response. I simply followed her into this mockup of her former home.

We had hardly set a foot within when an overly cheerful sales pitch recording shattered the silence of the ruins. I immediately went on alert, worried that the racket might attract enemies, but fortunately this area of the museum seemed deserted for the moment. This was especially good as the experience clearly did not put my Employer in a mind suitably attentive to her surroundings, and instead of her usual cautious advance, she practically ran through the exhibit, jaw clenched. She didn’t even pause to scavenge what little there was of potential value, nor even look at any of the exhibits. By the time we exited the tunnel comprising the mock-up vault, she was badly shaken as if having survived a fierce firefight. 

“I need a minute…” she whispered, leaning against a balcony as the last automated echoes of the presenter’s voice faded behind us. Although she faced away from me, I noted that her hand wiped repeatedly at her eyes and that her breathing was irregular. In vain, I tried to remember the last time I had seen an Employer weep so earnestly in front of me, then tried to think of the best course of action based on my experience and training. Ultimately, though, I drew a blank. Figuring anything I said or did might make the situation worse, I stayed still and silent in the shadows, keeping watch as was my purpose. 

“I’m sorry,” she said unnecessarily after a while. “That… that shouldn’t have shook me up so much but…” She shook her head before turning, revealing her reddened eyes. “Much as I hated the place, it was home, y’know?”

…I supposed I did. “It is… difficult to lose one’s place in the world,” I stated solemnly. 

“Yeah… guess I don’t need to tell you that, huh?” She gave me a sad smile before closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths. And with that, her back straightened and her breathing once more flowed steadily… aside from an occasional hitch or sniff. “Alright. Well, we still need to find that damn dish so we can fix the blasted tower for the stupid DJ so I can find my idiot father and kick him in the shins for causing all this trouble in the first place. …Ready to go?” 

I fought back a smirk at her humorously delivered diatribe, and instead gestured to the door. “Lead on. I will follow.”

***

“…Well, I guess the message on the computers _was_ post-war… I mean, the ‘loot’ apparently included a buttload of caps here… if it was pre-war, you’d think it’d be that paper money…. Wouldn’t you? ….when did bottle caps become a currency anyway? ….and why….? I mean, with those sharp edges, they don’t really sit easy in the pockets y’know…” Despite her ceaseless questions, my Employer’s gaze was still focused on the wall safe that the scavenger hunt had brought us to, so I assumed no response was needed and stayed silent. She rummaged around in the safe a few more minutes, and I could hear the caps jingling. “If it _is_ post-war, I wonder how recent… I mean, if this belongs to someone else, I don’t want to take it… When did the mutants move in down here? Do you know?”

A direct question. I bit back a sigh and tried to rummage through my memories to find the correct answer. “The mutants have been in this ‘Mall’ area for as long as I can recall, but on occasion, they have been pushed one direction or another, be it by the Brotherhood, the Talon company, or some other group. They always return, though.” She nodded as I tried to pinpoint an exact memory. “I had not been outside of Underworld for a while prior to your arrival, but it is my understanding that the Brotherhood had control of much of the Mall maybe a month prior.”

“Mmm. I bet that’s when they did the sweep of this place… and maybe that’s when this Prime fellow set up this little hunt… Well, if that’s the case, maybe I should just leave this here then… Especially if he finds out we took care of the mutants in here, maybe that Jiggs guy will come for his loot after all… Oh, why am I even debating. I know I’ll feel horribly guilty if I take this.”

She sighed as she stood to height and closed the safe door before readying her weapon once more. I watched her, impassive but incredulous. All the effort she’d put into this little scavenger hunt, and she was leaving… what was it? A bunch of caps? Then again, she had left a veritable fortune in Azhrukhals’s safe. Probably long gone by now, along with his liquor cabinet and chem supply, unless one of the more responsible denizens of Underworld like the handyman or hotelier had thought to grab them first. Well, mine was not to question. Caps were of no value to me save when it came to guarding those of my Employer, so if she put no value on them, I saw no reason to do so either.

Proceeding back down the stairs from the security room, we continued along the ground-floor hallway, eventually finding the other half of the exhibit hall that had been cut in two by a half-collapsed ceiling, …specifically the half which contained the somehow still intact and uncrushed space craft we had been seeking. Of course, there were also a number of enemies. At least our quiet approach had given us the drop on them, enabling me to easily down the closest with two shots to the torso while my Employer eliminated another at a distance. There were more, though, rushing from unseen corners and corridors, and from above and behind us on a balcony. Luckily, while the mouth of the room didn’t provide us much cover, the enemy’s love of close-range melee weapons and tendency to rush in, heedless of their surroundings, served us well …especially when combined with my Employer’s handful of frag mines…

Threat eliminated, we were finally able to enter the hall, my Employer immediately rushing over to the lander with the exuberance of a child. I supposed it would be endearing if the situation were not one that had us in a crumbling pre-war structure surrounded by monsters on what most would consider a suicide mission. I had begun to survey our surroundings for these potential threats when I heard her curse again from behind me. Turning, I found her on her tip toes, wire cutters in hand, trying to reach into a mess of cords just out of her reach. “Damnit, I’m too short!” she wailed, dropping back to her feet and looking to me. “Could you please give me a hand here? Or a boost? Something?” 

I supposed this could count as being necessary to her livelihood as I wordlessly took the cutters then looked at her questioningly. She pointed up at the knot of wires that were at the level of my face. “I’m thinking we’ll want to make sure we leave enough cord to get this thing connected in case whatever they’re using now is in rough shape, so I was trying to cut at the point where the cords go from the receiver disk into the module…” I nodded, then began to snip through the bundle of wires as quickly as I could, not sure I trusted my Employer to watch our backs but knowing it wasn’t my place to make the suggestion. 

Once the cords were cut, she handed me a crowbar. “Perfect. Can you reach the bolts up there? The ones holding the receiver onto the module?” I could. She then bade me to pry the disc from said module. It was not an easy task even with my abnormal strength, but as the rivets and bolts were rusted with age and a lack of maintenance, I was eventually able to dislodge the dish from the lander, catching and gently lowering it to the ground. It was not as heavy as something so large seemed it should be, but it was most certainly unwieldy. 

We stood there a moment, both staring at the device, before my Employer sighed. “I suppose I should have expected it to be fairly large, I mean if It’s going to reach the entire Wasteland and all… Not sure how the Hell we’re gonna get it out of here though…”

“It does not weigh too much,” I commented. “The concern is the size and decrease in one’s maneuverability while carrying it.”

“Mn. Unfortunately, I’m not sure what choice there is if we want to finish this job… Ah well. I think I have some stuff stashed in here that we can use to lash it to my back…just have to figure out what to do with my pack and holster here…”

I withheld a sigh, anticipating her next query. “I can carry the dish if you like, though I shall not be as capable as normal…”

But she shook her head. “No worries! I’m the one who got us into this mess; it should be me that bears the burden. Never start what you can’t finish, y’know.” So saying, she removed her own back-born holsters, then pulled out some old belts she had stashed away. These she threaded through bolt holes in the mounting apparatus of the dish before lifting it up onto her back like a backpack…or a great shell. Indeed, it took quite a bit of willpower to maintain my neutral expression at the rather amusing sight of my Employer who, between the dish itself and the forward-leaning posture it forced her to adopt, looked more like a mirelurk than a human. “I’m not going to be able to shoot as well like this,” she commented, either ignorant of or ignoring how ridiculous she looked, “but you’re way better with the whole fighting thing anyway. If you can just keep me alive long enough to get to Washington Monument and hand this thing off to the Brotherhood boys there…”

“I am sworn to protect,” I reminded her as she trailed off. “So please, lead on.”

She began to move forward once again, apparently following signs that indicated the path to the exit. Instead of egress, though, we found ourselves in some great pit of a room with a massive machine in the center. I was content with simply passing through quickly, but of course my Employer had to explore. 

“This must be the planetarium!” she exclaimed as we entered, traipsing down the worn steps. “It’s probably dead now, but it used to show images of the stars or something….”

As if on cue, the aged machine suddenly burst to life…and damn near burst our eardrums in the process. Flinching, my Employer began poking at the whirring device before nonsensically jogging around the perimeter of the room as best she could with the dish on her back. I tried to suggest we simply leave but could not be heard over the canned speech blaring all around us. And besides, she suddenly seemed once again stunned into wonderous immobility as the projection started up, replicating the cosmos on the concrete above us. I supposed it was very pretty, but not much different than what could be seen every clear-sky night… and without so much noise! …noise which soon attracted two more mutants. At least the crack of our weapons wasn’t any more deafening than the din around us…

Enemies felled, I noted my Employer was pounding on some control panel – apparently what she had been seeking earlier. Sighing (aloud this time, certain it could not be heard), I came up to see what she was doing. I saw her mouth something along the lines of ‘it doesn’t work’ and noted that the button she was furiously pressing had a label below it reading “Stop Presentation”. It was clearly broken, however, given that the projection machine started up yet again with an electronic buzzing and spinning of the holotape. Grumbling under my breath, I reached out and tapped at the console to get her attention before jerking my head toward the exit to indicate we might simply leave. She seemed reluctant at first but eventually nodded, giving one last dirty look at the broken console.

…of course, we had to make one more stop prior to our departure so she could break into a control room, hack the terminals, and open up a gun cabinet filled with surprisingly high powered weaponry including multiple assault rifles, a decent hunting rifle, and even a missile launcher. I wondered for a moment just what a _museum_ needed with a missile launcher in the first place, but decided I probably did not want to know…and anyway, it was not mine to question…or to care.

Finally, after another flight of stairs and scrambling down a mountain of rubble, we were back where we had started. My Employer stopped me just short of the door and handed me one of the scavenged stealth-boys. “Just in case you feel you need it,” she explained with a grin. “Though I’m thinking if we hug the building and stay away from the trenches, we should be…well…relatively safe.”

I nodded as I took the device, attaching it to my belt though I did not activate it. “Our destination is the monument at the mall’s center?” I queried.

“Yeah. The Washington Monument. There should be some Brotherhood soldiers there that we can pass this dish off to. At least that’s what Three Dog indicated… Oh! By the way, the pass phrase is ‘Renfield’ ….which… I guess is appropriate for us, given we’re doing the bidding of a powerful mastermind whose voice gets in our heads!” 

…I hadn’t the faintest clue what she was on about again, but nodded politely before reminding her, “the Brotherhood does not look kindly on my type, nor those who associate with us. If you wish for me to stop and wait for you out of sight…”

But she was shaking her head. “Those tin cans don’t worry me, and you deserve as much of the credit as I do. …probably more, if I’m being honest… Who knows, maybe knowing that folks like you can _help_ them might change some minds…”

There was something about her statement, her tone so bold and full of righteousness, that gave me pause. Such optimism, I had not seen in… well, not since we departed for the Grove that Fated day, if I was being honest. And it struck me how in that moment she reminded me of some of those I was meant to serve… driven, hopeful… almost noble…and I wondered if it just might be possible that the Gods could overlook her heritage of Old World blood and Bless her regardless…? 

But I quickly ejected that sacrilegious thought from my mind; no doubt it was the mere naivety of a Vault Dweller I saw, a dangerous ignorance that would soon be crushed by the horrors of these ‘real world’ proving grounds. I could only hope that she would not completely give into the temptation of tyranny, cruelty, and utter uselessness as most those I had served when the Wastes finally ground her into the dirt with the rest of us.

***

Thanks to the scavenged stealth boys, our journey to the monument was unusually uneventful, and we soon arrived at a military-style perimeter that had been set up around the marble needle. No sooner had I stepped into the shadow of the monolith, though, and I was facing down a minigun held by one of the Brotherhood’s tin cans who was none too happy to see one such as me on his ‘turf’. Luckily, my Employer broke her stealth right then and the soldier was smart enough to actually pause when she began waving her arms and imploring him to not shoot rather than opening fire at the sudden movement. To his further credit, he actually listened to what my Employer said and didn’t give her any guff about partnering with me, acting instead as if I simply weren’t there. However, that was about as helpful as he got as he vehemently refused to take the dish or lift a finger to assist in its installation.

“So… you want us… to go up there,” my Employer said incredulously, pointing up at the rickety looking monument, “to repair _your dish?!”_

“Uh…yeah?” The soldier’s tone was borderline insulting now, though he no longer displayed any real outward aggression. “Three Dog told you to do it after all. And we got more important shit to do. Like keeping the damn muties off you two.”

I thought she might continue arguing as loathe as she clearly was to proceed in this mission, but instead she just sighed and looked back at me. I could practically feel the trepidation and fear rolling off her like a miasma, and inwardly groaned. Of course, I certainly didn’t blame her for dreading the ascent; even I felt concern as I beheld this crumbling monument, marble weakened by centuries of neglect, acid rain, and violent storms to the point that large chunks were missing. I felt even more uncomfortable when, upon entering at the ground level, it appeared that the only route to the top was an ancient elevator system with part of the walls missing. Not that climbing who knew how many flights of stairs was a particularly attractive option either, but these Old World elevators… I don’t know I’d have cared for them when they were new and maintained, let alone now. ‘Moving coffins’, a previous employer had once called them, and while I had not agreed with him on most things…he certainly was right in that assessment. 

I kept my concerns to myself, however, as my Employer already looked ready to start panicking, puking, or possibly both. As the elevator lurched to life, she let out a whimper and tightly closed her eyes, curling in on herself against the corner of the metal box furthest from the hole in the side. I said nothing, and contented myself with watching the land beneath fall away as we rose. It was a… view… to be sure. Crumbling buildings, blasted monuments, and miles of battle-torn mud leading up to the hulking monstrosity of some pre-war domed building. Specks of mottled green seethed within the trenches carved into the dirt -the myriad mutants who currently ruled the land - though I could also see sparkles of silver scattered about. Unmoving, paid no mind by the mutants, I figured they were the remnants of the last round of Brotherhood hoplites to fall. A sad Fate, to be sure, left to rot in no-mans land… but it would cost even more lives to retrieve them, and the mutants were not exactly versed in the Custom of the Dead… Rather doubtful they’d ransom the corpses for anything the Brotherhood’d be willing to give them anyway…

The jostling of the elevator as we reached the apex of the tower jolted me from my thoughts and caused my Employer to inhale sharply and freeze. Even when the doors finally squealed open, she seemed unable to move, still tucked into the corner and starting to hyperventilate. I stood there for a good minute, hoping she’d come round, but her panic seemed to only be growing as her breathing got shallower and faster. I sighed internally, lamenting my lack of training or skill in such matters. But, seeing no other option, I began again to try and talk her down from a height-induced attack of anxiety.

“Just breathe. You’ll be fine. Deep breaths. Deeper.” To her credit, the girl was trying. Not succeeding very well, but she was trying. 

As she fought with her own fear, I dug through my memory, scrounging for some scrap of advice or an appropriate aphorism that could be useful, but mostly coming up short. Still, I tried again. “Try counting as you breath. Inhale for five counts, exhale for five…” She nodded, but remained frozen in her panic, trying and failing to regain control. Unsure what else to do, I leaned up against the wall next to her, inhaling and exhaling as slow, deep, and loud as I could in the hopes that she might fall into sync. I wasn’t sure that was what ultimately helped, but her breathing did eventually slow to a pace akin to that incurred during a brisk walk as opposed to a terrified sprint. 

After what felt like hours but was probably all of 20 minutes, she slowly began to edge along the elevator. Her eyes were still only half open and cast down at her feet, and upon seeing the slight gap between elevator and uppermost platform, she froze again with a guttural groan. Still, gripping the edge of the door as if her life depended upon it, she quickly swung her body around into the chamber at the top of the monument, nearly collapsing against the wall there as she struggled to control her terror. 

“Find your center,” I suggested as I calmly stepped out of the metal coffin and into the dubious safety of the room. “And just breathe.” Again, she managed a slight nod as she worked to compose herself. Of course, the elements were _not_ cooperating, the wind whipping and whistling through the many holes in the tiny chamber, and causing the entire structure to creak and groan under their assault. Luckily, though, the thing was built to last and did not shake or wobble as much as I had figured it might. 

After another five minutes or so, my Employer managed to at least open her eyes, though she refused to look anywhere but the floor. “Ok. Do you… do you see where we need to install this dish?” she queried in a near whisper.

I did, unfortunately. “Yes. There is a similar device and a large control console right behind you…”

She hesitated a glance towards the console…and immediately groaned and curled in on herself again. Because of _course_ the console was right next to the biggest hole in this structure. And the old, damaged dish that needed to be removed? It was all the way outside of the hole, attached precariously to some of the rebar core of the monument itself. I sighed again, internally of course, as I studied the setup. I did have extensive training in many fields, and an implanted memory bank full of information my Superiors deemed potentially useful in combat and sabotage operations. This of course included _some_ background in simple electronics and the establishment or dismantling of radio systems, albeit not much beyond the basics. Still, I figured I knew enough to perform the work of rigging up the device without too much difficulty… but I would need more hands than just my two…

“Miss, I hope you’ll forgive my impertinence, but of course you know that the sooner we complete this task, the sooner we can get down from here.”

“I know…” she squeaked out. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, I know, it’s so stupid but…” 

I sighed as I crossed my arms and leaned back against the wall once more. “What is it about heights that bothers you so?” I asked after a spell, hoping she might provide some clue to her phobia that I could work with. 

“I… It’s so high up! With the wind blowing, and the metal creaking…and if you fall… oh god, if you fall…” A shivering spasm rocked her entire body as she curled in on herself again. 

“But you won’t fall,” I interjected calmly. “The structure is at least as strong as the museum we were just fighting in, and there’s no fight to be had here. There are no holes in the floor either. Besides, it would be a _severe_ dereliction of my duty were I to let such a thing happen to you.”

“You…you can’t let me fall… won’t let me fall, right?” she slowly stammered out, finally opening her eyes to look up at me.

“Of course not,”

“It’s…it’s not really a combat situation…”

“That is true…” I replied, feeling my brow muscles trying to quirk out of the accepted ‘true neutral’ position. “However, protection of your person is the paramount Law, and that applies even outside of combat. So, were I to let you fall, then I should have failed in this most important of duties.”

She nodded at my words, and slowly began reigning in her breathing again. Still, another ten or fifteen minutes passed, the sun sinking lower in the sky. I debated bringing this to her attention, but didn’t want to risk it spurring another panic attack, so I merely stood beside her quietly, hoping she could eventually pull through long enough to at least help me get the damn dish in place. 

At long last, she turned fully and lunged towards the pillar in the center of the room, clinging to it like a fly on glass as she edged towards the radio itself. Once close enough, she dropped heavily to kneel in front of the control console, studying that device alone and not looking anywhere near the gap in the wall. I followed close behind, hoping my presence might provide _some_ reassurance and prevent another attack of nerves. Whether it was that or simply getting her mind off the environs and onto the problem at hand, she finally seemed to regain her composure and began poking around in the guts of the console. “The radio itself does seem to be alright despite being exposed to the elements,” she commented, “so… yeah. The problem really is just the dish…” She slowly turned her head to follow a length of cord connecting the console to the remnants of the original device, shredded to bits by bullets from the mutants below. She inhaled sharply before continuing in a quiet voice, “we’ll have to get that off first, though…”

“I can handle that,” I cut in. “But I will need you to help me hold the devices in place while I am removing or securing them.”

She looked up at me, then out at the damaged dish hanging precariously from its perch and visibly swallowed. “Alright. Well.. …how can I help?”

From there, the operation went somewhat more smoothly. I even managed to talk her through the final steps of fastening the lander dish while I held it in place, despite it forcing her to reach outside of the tower. Once the new dish was secured, though, it was just a matter of minutes before we had it fully hooked up, even when my Employer took it upon herself to replace a few fraying lengths of wire with a few somewhat more intact bits she’d scavenged up. Thus, upon testing out the signal on her Pip-boy, the tone that came out was louder and more clear than I could ever remember. 

Somehow, all the way back in his protected bunker, the DJ seemed aware of this change in broadcast quality, and began immediately crowing of my Employer’s success. …and despite still gripping onto any surface in reach, my Employer managed a faint smile. “We did it,” she murmured as some old song came through the speakers, clear as polished glass. “We really did it…”

“Mm,” I replied, once more leaning back against the stone of the monument. Through the gaps in the casement, I could see the vivid orange of the setting sun casting a pale red glow across the crumbling buildings beneath us, the shadows hiding the mud, the mutants, and the burned-out vehicles. Even the sounds of a gun battle somewhere below was distant, mostly muted by the wind. It was…almost peaceful. 

My Employer seemed to notice this too, even raising her eyes to look – really look – at the land below. And look she did, for quite a while. For a moment I thought she had frozen up in fear again, but I noted that her posture, though tense, was not so rigid or inwardly coiled as before. I stood there, letting her stare down the setting sun, the buildings taking on an almost golden tone before the light slipped too far below the horizon, leaving only the melancholy blue-grey of twilight. It wasn’t until the stars were becoming clearly visible that she moved again, turning to me with a smile. “It’s… quite a view from up here…” I murmured in agreement as she again stared out at the ruins around us. “It’s… It’s what I like best about the Wastes, y’know. The sky, I mean. The vault was all so… metallic and sterile. And what colors we had; they were so… artificial… Nothing like the vibrancy you get out here. And the stars…” She shook her head, gazing up through the cracks in the roof at the specks of light above. “No old photo or educational holotape can begin to do justice to the real thing.” She then fell silent, gazing up at the sky for a few minutes more, before finally hoisting her satchel and taking a deep breath. “I’ll need to drop in on Three Dog. It’s not very far from here and his studio has a lot of room where we could camp out for the night, but… he’s all surrounded by Brotherhood…” Her expression seemed to convey guilt, I assumed for either the perceived risk to my person or to her standing with them…though the latter did not seem so likely given her earlier behavior.

“I do not think that they will give me trouble so long as I am with you, though again, my presence might do harm to your reputation. Many smoothskins, especially of clans like the Brotherhood, tend to view those who spend time with ghouls as somehow contaminated…”

She was vehemently shaking her head. “That’s only because they’re willfully ignorant idiots. Act like it’s some sort of contagious disease instead of a simple mutation… Besides, they already give me plenty of shit for the crime of being a ‘wastelander’. So seriously, I don’t give a fig what they think of me as long as they don’t stand in my way.”

The righteous fury, though probably a bit misplaced, seemed to have dissipated her fear completely for the moment. I filed that information away as potentially useful as I debated the current issue. I was not personally too concerned about what hid in the shadows of night, but still didn’t fancy trying to carry on a firefight when I could only see the enemy by the flash of their weapon fire…especially not with an Employer in tow. And while she might currently be coasting on adrenaline and the anticipation of claiming her prize from the DJ, I suspected it would not be long before she began to crash. I could probably keep her safe from enemies, but there was only so much I could do if she tripped over her own feet down a flight of stairs, or twisted her ankle in a clumsy encounter with a pothole… “If I may, traveling to the studio in the dark does not seem a safe venture. Perhaps we might spend the evening in Underworld as it is close by?”

“Mm…” At this comment, she looked a bit disappointed. “Yeah… You’re probably right…though, you don’t think they’re still angry about Ahzrukhal by any chance, do you?”

I considered this a moment. “I am sure there are those who are, but they shall do you no harm so long as I am present.”

“Right, but what if they try to hurt you?”

“They know that would be tantamount to suicide.”

She blanched a bit at this, but finally sighed. “Well, I suppose that would make the most sense. I’m tempted to camp out here…” I followed her eyes to a mattress set up in a corner of the room, “but I just... I don’t think my nerves could take it. I know, I know, it’s stupid but… I just don’t like being up so high! …Besides, if Tulip has any more in stock, I could use some more fusion cells… Anyway… shall we then?” At my nod, she rose to her feet and started towards the elevator, but paused at the entrance, one foot raised, and starting to breathe too quickly once again.

“It is sturdy,” I said in what I hoped was a reassuring tone. “And I will ensure nothing happens to you.”

At that, she jerkily stepped forward, gripping the wall and groaning a bit as she spun the corner so she was inside. Still, despite clinging to the wall of wall of the box, she was no longer outright cowering, nor were her eyes screwed shut. Progress, perhaps? I had heard that sometimes the best way to overcome one’s fears was to confront them head-on…

“You are ready?” I inquired. She nodded, taking a deep breath as I pressed the button. This time, though, we both gazed out through the holes in the casement as we sank back down into the fray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, why is the BoS password for the monument Renfield, like the character from Dracula? That always struck me as... interesting.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this all started as part of 2020's Whumptober prompt list....but no sooner had I started writing, then I realized...well, for this to work, I need to build up the characters a bit. So, I started writing some bits of story to lead up to the Whumping annnd ended up with what is looking like it might turn into a massive multi-chapter work if I bother to finish it.  
> It is good to get this brain-worm out onto paper...metaphorically speaking, at least. Not that the world needs another Charon & F!LW story but... oh who am I kidding? The world can always use another Charon & F!LW story!


End file.
